Absolute Power
by Layla-V
Summary: C/P: Voyager's encounter with an intergalactic superpower results in calamitous events that change everything for the intrepid crew. Written for the Die J/C Die contest 2004.
1. Prologue

**STORY NOTE**: Evil!Janeway alert. Diehard Janeway fans would probably not enjoy this much. This is not a Janeway most of you saw in canon, but I must admit this portrayal is still based on glimpses I saw of the character on screen at times. I have simply grabbed hold of those few 'enlightening' moments and taken them in a whole new twisted direction. Janeway's background is loosely built around events from Jeri Taylor's 'Mosaic', which I have *not* read, so if you find any discrepancies, it would be best to take them in stride. It's an AU after all. Written for the Die J/C Die contest 2004.

* * *

**Absolute Power - Prologue**

_****2376 Indiana, Earth, the Alpha Quadrant****_

The sunlight filtering through the beautiful mahogany Victorian screen sprinkled generously on the floor of the sun porch. The polished marble gleamed underneath her bare feet, her shoes uncharacteristically left somewhere inside the house at this time of the day.

It was noon, a time of invigoration and activity for the Madame's usually alert disposition. But the old mathematician's discerning mind was indefensibly occupied with thoughts of dismay.

An old faithful orderly peeked out at the lady of the house from the shadows inside, and furrowed his brows in concern. It was old age, he thought. Age, and the loneliness and grief of losing so many people she'd loved in her lifetime, he assured himself, as he clucked sadly and shuffled back to his chores.

But he was quite mistaken. It wasn't age that troubled the Madame right now. Far from it.

With a veined fine-boned hand, she picked up the datapadd from her lap, flicked on the display with her thumb, and stared at the numbers and words once again. As it had done each time she'd read this message in the last forty-eight hours, her heart stopped for one long breathless moment, as she swallowed hard, her eyes blinking back the wetness that suddenly crept beneath her eyelids. Her sorrow was as black and deep as it had been all these years, and as new and suffocatingly fresh as it had been that fateful day so many years ago. With a staggering sigh, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the cushioned backrest of her chair, biting her lower lip in pain.

Twenty-four years.

Twenty-four long, painful years of lies and deception and treachery. Of a strange and silent investigation—a painstaking search for a truth so terrible that it was unimaginable to think that a thing like that could've actually occurred.

A shuttle crash that had devastated an entire family. Two lives lost and yet so many more broken down by grief. The grief, which had been so obvious to everyone: the pain that had been so publicly and heartbreakingly displayed in front of an entire audience.

Was it all a deception? An elaborate façade erected simply to hide a hate so vehement, so intense that it had taken twenty-four years to unravel its many despicable, befouling layers?

She shook her head in a denial, which was almost futile. The figures and the words told her that the evidence had finally been laid bare, was out in the open. The shuttle crash had not been an accident.

After twenty-four years, Starfleet had found an active code hidden in the recovered debris—the activator switch of the disruption program that had apparently caused the crash. A code that had been very painstakingly and very deliberately timed and programmed by someone who was very, very good. Starfleet were now only searching for the identity of the individual that secret code belonged to. The moment they had it, they'd know who was responsible for the crash all those years ago.

But it was silly, wasn't it? She already knew whose code it was. They had to be wrong. They had to have made a mistake somewhere.

With a shaking hand, the old woman punched the console closed, letting the datapadd fall back into her lap, and closed her eyes once more.

They surely had to have made a terrible, terrible mistake.

* * *

**_**2376 A lone starship in the Delta Quadrant**_**

Her limbs tangled in sheets soaked with her own sweat, her dream hot and furious in its utter and total vehemence.

A voice came to her through the thick fog that was her mind. _**I'm warning you**_, it said, the usually tempered tones pitched low and hoarse, dangerously insolent in anger. _**I won't let you cross that line again**_, the voice stressed insultingly, as it crossed the line itself into naked rebellion.

Her fingers clenched into tiny balls and her nails dug into her palms without mercy, as the bed sheets bunched beneath her, her body coiling in hate, a low growl rising from her throat.

**_Then you leave me no choice_**, said her own voice—the tones icy and ruthless, coming out of lips thinned with distaste.

No choice. There was no other choice. Never had been. Never would be.

She tossed and turned on her bed. The nails digging into her palms cut through the flesh in their anger, and hot blood trickled out of the tiny wounds. But she remained caught in her never-ending nightmare, never waking up to notice the damage she'd caused.

* * *

The vision was disturbing on more levels than one.

The alien vista laid out before him was a piercing, biting, frigid blue. The leaves, the trees, the flora at his feet; even the grass stirring restlessly in the acrid foul wind blowing down the high ground—all the same shade. The sights were like nothing he'd ever seen on any world in his long lifetime. Neither on the hundreds or so Federation outposts he'd visited back home. Nor on any of the worlds he'd come across in the Delta Quadrant.

The sky was a burning hot red, the color of Human blood, clouded with heavy plumes of smoke—undoubtedly the source of the burnt caustic stench. The surroundings were hostile, the air dense with condensation and painfully suffocating—unlike the welcoming thickness of his homeworld's clean air. Even the forest floor somehow seemed alive—eerily moving, shifting, buckling under his feet. And when he looked closely, he saw that it indeed _**was**_ alive.

Hundreds and thousands of tiny arachnid-like creatures poured out of the quaking, fractured earth. Their gleaming, black, segmented bodies covered in a chitinous exoskeleton, from which protruded pairs of claw-like limbs—retracting and extending endlessly in an ominous dance of destruction. From their deadly fanged orifices came menacing hissing sounds, terrifying and utterly baneful in their snarling message, making the hairs at his nape rise in disquiet.

But it wasn't the frigid, forbidding blue of the foliage, wasn't the blazing crimson sky, wasn't the malevolent earth swelling with the creatures bursting out of its hidden black depths, that brought him to his feet in consternation.

What sent the shiver down his spine was the sight of the strangely familiar being standing before his eyes, struggling in the midst of all that chaos.

A large Terran wolf—a male of the species—stood before him, surrounded by the menacing creatures. Looking utterly displaced in the harsh alien environment, the animal bared its canines and snarled in fury as the creatures pinned it down. Its thick shaggy coat, which should have been a shining silver-gray, seemed marred with hideous scars streaked with what could only have been blood. He watched as the spidery beasts attempted to climb the canine's limbs repeatedly, watched as the wolf strove and fought against the creatures, its growls low and loud with agitation. He felt his heart lurch in trepidation as the aliens' fangs sank in the warm fur-coated flesh, making the animal howl in pain, even as it snapped its jaws and wrenched at the malicious creatures in defense, its incisors sinking into and crushing its tormentors in single, lethal bites.

However it was one, alone, and faced with brutally uneven odds—as the moment it would get rid of one creature clinging to one part of its bloodied body, another would attack it from elsewhere, once again sinking its claws into its flesh. Standing there, watching this gory conflict proceed before him, he became aware of the dire futility of the situation. The wolf would fight to its last breath, but would ultimately succumb to its tragic fate—the realization unexpectedly filling him with an illogical surge of pain.

Yet, as was the case in all unforeseen visions, there was more to this situation than met the eye.

His attention was suddenly, unexpectedly, diverted as a long distraught cry sounded through the cold harsh forest. His eyes flew to the burning blood-streaked sky, where he saw a bird flapping between the stifling clouds of smoke. His eyes widened as he realized it was a Terran eagle, a large, long-winged specimen, hovering in the sky, shrieking in anger. His brow furrowed as he noticed the wolf's sudden distraction at the bird's appearance, its growls sounding more and more pained and furious. Suddenly the soaring bird screeched and plunged down at the entrapped wolf, its talons extended, its gold-feathered wings whipping at near-light speed. With the raptor's sharp beak ready for grasping, it attacked the spidery creatures, seizing them with its curved long claws, tearing them into pieces.

As he watched, a strange tableau of events unfolded before his eyes. Over and over, the eagle rose high into the sky, screaming in frenzy, and then dove down at the surrounded wolf—attacking the alien creatures, trying to defend the wounded animal. With this new attack coming, the arachnids too diverted part of their attention to their new nemesis—leaping into the air to attack just as the eagle plunged down at them. He felt his disconcertion grow as he saw the wolf disregard the spiders sinking their fangs into its own flesh, and instead snarled and snapped at the ones that leapt to attack the bird. Its growls grew louder with each passing nanosecond, as more and more creatures attacked it from all directions; and the eagle screeched and plunged down to attack them, striving to save the wolf.

Such an uncanny, inexplicable combination: the eagle shielding the wounded wolf, the wolf forgetting its own pain to protect the eagle—two counterparts that couldn't have been more dissimilar, more contrary than the other. What was the link between the two animals? He strained to comprehend as the cries of the fighting beasts filled his senses.

And then the vision ended, suddenly, and as abruptly, as it had begun. He blinked through the swirling plumes of smoke coming out of his meditation lamps and tried to bring his thoughts into order. He was in his quarters, his surroundings as calm and quiet as always—and yet he felt a discordant confusion in his mind, a whirling cacophony of increasing alarm.

He slowly rose from his sitting position on the floor, brought his robes closer around him, and walked to the viewport. Stars streaked by the window as the ship made its way across uncharted space at warp speed.

A premonition; an omen of things to come. There was no logical explanation for the uninvited vision, other than the conclusion that it was a forewarning of some sort.

As he looked at the stars, the Vulcan impelled his inner calm to return, for his mental shields to reassert themselves—as they'd done so many times in his life. But his ears continued to ring with the jarring echoes of the wolf's painful howls, and the eagle's affronted shrieks.

The stars streaked by long into the night, and his discomfiture remained his everlasting companion.

* * *

**Continued in Chap 1  
**


	2. Chapter 1

**Absolute Power, Chapter 1**

**THE CONTACT  
**

The first actual contact hail came on Chakotay's console, which he shared with the captain between their command seats on the Bridge.

Twenty-five tense minutes of being guided in the midst of fifteen alien ships. Fifteen _large_ and _heavily armed _alien ships that had literally sprung out of nothingness and enshrouded them the moment they entered the territory of space they'd detected earlier.

Even though the captain had ordered helm to match the alien vessels' speed, for reasons quite apparent, they had begun to get wary of the kind of welcome they'd receive. All their hails to the lead ships had gone unanswered and they were disconcerted to note that they no longer appeared to be in the Delta Quadrant. The rupture in subspace that had opened and deposited the alien fleet in front of them had also now shoved Voyager along with the other ships to the other side of the anomaly—a new region of space, unmapped, never seen before. The only response they were getting were what Harry interpreted as 'welcome flashes', as comprehended by the Bridge's universal translator. No words, no explanation, just a series of laser pulses magnified off the five lead ships' deflectors.

That, and a long wait.

And then Harry's concerned announcement that a deep scan of all their major systems was being conducted from the largest lead vessel. Defenses, weapons, propulsion, security. A quick and thorough sensor sweep to gather relevant data and information from the ship's database. Nothing too blatantly intrusive—nothing Janeway hadn't herself done to other, lesser vessels when the time asked for it—but still unbidden enough to ruffle her ultra-fine feathers.

Yet who could she have blamed? It had been her decision to turn Voyager towards this new heading, to take a week-long seven light years detour, and enter the alien territory uninvited herself. She fumed and fretted on the Bridge, staring holes at her crew who had no answers for her, and gritted her teeth in irritation.

So when the lights starting blinking on Chakotay's console, and he was standing at Tactical next to Tuvok, it was Janeway who first punched in her code to activate the message.

Only to have the console lock up on her.

Janeway stared at the console, her frown deepening as she turned around to look at her First Officer unbelievingly. Just as Tuvok's console started pulsing with a separate hail.

Chakotay blinked and looked first at Tuvok, then down at the Tactical console flashing with the incoming message, and then at his clearly upset captain. Who glared back at both of them accusingly, as if it was their fault they were being hailed on their separate consoles. Before either he or Tuvok could decide whether it would be prudent for them to accept the hails, a third impropriety occurred on Voyager's Bridge. Tom Paris's helm console received a hail.

"What the hell's going on?" Janeway growled, as she swiveled back to look at her Chief Pilot, who seemed frozen in his seat, unsure of how to react to the captain's ire.

"Captain," Tuvok started, his tone appropriately dispassionate for the situation, "the logical course of action would be to answer these hails."

Janeway turned around to face him. "I want to know how these hails are being diverted to your consoles in the first place," she demanded. "That's not possible."

"They scanned Voyager." Chakotay shrugged. "And they seem technologically advanced enough."

"But that doesn't explain how—"

Janeway's retort was interrupted by Kim. "Captain," he said, "there is a hail being received on the console… in your Ready Room."

"Revert it to the Bridge," Janeway snapped at him, exasperated.

"It's not responding." Harry swallowed helplessly and then looked down at his readings. "And the alien ships are dropping out of warp."

They all felt the shift in Voyager's speed as Paris followed the aliens' lead and adroitly eased the ship down to impulse. The stars, which until now had been multihued exploding streaks of light on the main viewer, coalesced into singly identifiable, solid points of brightness—as Voyager slowed in speed, coming to a stop along with the other ships.

"It would appear, Captain," came Tuvok's confirmation, "that we've reached the destination that they had in mind."

Janeway turned around to stare at the viewscreen.

For a while, there was nothing but silence on the Bridge. And then Janeway moved.

"I think I'll take that hail now," she said to no one in particular, her voice sounding awed as her eyes bored into the spectacle in front of her. And then, with a renewed purpose, she walked into the Ready Room.

And that was how the Federation Starship Voyager made first contact with the Zokaa'r Sovereignty.

* * *

They'd called him the First One.

Chakotay leaned against the bulkhead next to the Delta Flyer's entrance. His eyes were fixed on the padd in his hand as he quickly skimmed the information he needed to review, and yet, his mind kept going in a loop over the events that had taken place in the last few hours.

He had to admit this: Voyager continuously kept true to its legacy. _Thou shalt not get involved in things that are not significant enough_—seemed to be the decree by which Janeway ruled lately.

And the Spirits invariably kept it that way, time and again.

The one civilization they had to hit upon after their sensors had picked up signs of advanced technology seven light years away, had to be an Inter-planetary Monarchy spread over three star systems—a huge galactic force evolved and technologically immense enough to be considered worthy of being on par with the Federation itself.

The only thing was they had no idea _who_ these people were. Nowhere on their six years journey through the Delta Quadrant had they ever heard anyone mention the Zokaa'r Sovereignty to them.

Voyager had been asked—more like _compelled_—to dock at the space station they'd reached along with the Zokaa'rian ships. The docking clamps had been attached, the information nodes connected for the data to flow into Voyager's databanks. However, none of the species they'd yet learned about were even familiar to Seven, who as Voyager's resident Borg was normally the person to ask such questions. This mighty alliance, with all its exotic colors and tastes, remained a mystery.

He didn't know what to think.

Seven days ago, Voyager had been on the brink of a crippling power breakdown. Their recent conflict with the Detarians—a particularly nasty Delta Quadrant species they'd had the misfortune to meet—had left the ship shaken and its power banks nearly depleted. After making their narrow escape, with energy reserves down to critical levels, Voyager had limped across uncharted space for twelve days, before long-range sensors had detected far away traces of a technologically advanced civilization.

The ensuing briefing had resulted in Janeway's immutable declaration that to get help, Voyager would use up the rest of their power reserves to reach the detected civilization. At warp seven no less. There had been a short delay during which the command team argued over the supposed viability of the rather brazen plan. Or to be more accurate, a gritted-teethed Chakotay argued while Janeway pretended to humor him.

He felt his points were valid. They had just barely survived a vicious alien attack. Their power levels were down, and they needed to restock their supplies and repair many critical systems soon. To burn the remaining power that they had, traveling towards an unknown destination at high warp, when in truth they had no idea who or what they might encounter seven light years away, was not only brazen but unwise as well. Illogical, as Tuvok had put it.

But an obstinate Kathryn Janeway was like a rising maelstrom—exhaustingly implacable once she set her mind to do something.

So here they were, seven days later, with him yet again being forced to put his simmering frustration at the captain's obstinacy aside—because they'd found themselves in the midst of a whole new ballgame. A fold in subspace kept this territory amazingly hidden from all outside eyes, and it was only sheer luck that had allowed Voyager this glimpse when they'd run an offhand long range scan at that particular moment—eight thousand light years away. That the rupture had been open at the point of the scan was nothing but a coincidence; a coincidence that had showed them a window into another world, another universe. And it was a whole other universe—with dozens of star systems within its fold, with their own sets of species and technologies.

A universe not yet marred by the Borg's invasive force.

The Zokaa'r Sovereignty was also extensive, spread out over three star systems, encompassing twenty-eight individual worlds, sixty-seven terra-formed moons, and asteroid settlements of the kind no one in the Federation had ever come across. Not to mention, of course, the four suns—two of which were the binary stars of the Zokaa'r home system, their living fuel—fifteen thousand light years away.

When facing a host fleet so enormous, it was generally considered tactful to comply with local wishes. After all, if the Zokaa'rians had really wanted to overpower Voyager, they wouldn't have needed to show such an obtrusive display of native hospitality.

However, Kathryn Janeway could never be entirely pleased.

They'd called _him_ the First One.

The scans they'd taken, they said, showed _him_ to be the integral constituent of the command team. That was why they'd sent the contact hails in the sequence that they did. The First One. The Observer. The Guide.

And they had no title for the captain.

She had definitely not taken that fact well.

Chakotay was certain it was nothing more than a cultural misunderstanding. The Zokaa'rians followed a unique style of a patriarchal monarchy. As in any imperialistic society, the rulers of these worlds lived within their own set rules, and had their own rigid way of looking at the universe. And like any other monarchy, they seemed to judge all outsiders by their own specific standards.

At least, that was the impression Chakotay got from his first few visual encounters, via the commlink, with the Honorable Governor-general Rah'toveem of Kel'nohr. Kel'nohr was one of the twenty-eight main worlds of the Zokaa'r Sovereignty. It was the world Voyager was currently visiting.

Apparently, the governor-general was only an attaché to the Zokaa'r High Council present on the planet, the person who would present the Voyager entourage to the Zokaa'r royals. Although each planet was ruled by its own Chieftain, who was a local ruling the native population and who ran the government—which in Kel'nohr's case was a Kel'zian—a Zokaa'r Great Overseer working under the System King remained at hand on each world. This seemed to be the system the Sovereignty had fashioned to make this monarchy work.

Chakotay felt a dull throbbing pain start in his temples. He felt as if he were having an information overload. He wished he were still in his office where he could replicate a soothing tea to ease his pains, but there was no time to do that now. The few hours they'd gotten had simply not been enough time to get current on the history of a civilization that was hundreds of years old.

However, in the face of unexpected events, one had to do like the Borg. Adapt.

As the image of Voyager's resident Borg's _adaptation_ of the events summary came to his mind, a presentation that he personally had been an audience to only an hour ago, Chakotay felt a smile start at the corners of his mouth. And how could he forget the performance he'd received from B'Elanna a little later? If nothing else, no one could accuse either of them of ever failing to speak their minds.

His thoughts suddenly shifted at the sound of the twin doors opening, and his eyes lifted up to watch the other two members of his away team enter Shuttlebay 2.

* * *

"I can't believe you're _still_ reading that report."

The blink-beep of the instruments around him provided the much-loved harmonies of the pre-flight sequence. His fingers flew to the controls, every single action taken part of a concerto ingrained in his brain, brought forth of its own accord, effortless. Still, it was at times like these when Tom literally felt like rolling his eyes in exasperation.

They'd walked inside the shuttlebay to the sight of their First Officer still engrossed in the datapadds they'd left him with half an hour ago.

He and Tuvok had just ended a brainstorming session with Chakotay in his own office. Four hours of thinking and planning and focused deliberations, covering all the things they needed to keep in mind when they went down to the planet. Tom's thoughts were literally in a whirl from all the details they were supposed to concentrate on, and he'd run the moment he got the chance to give his brain a rest.

And yet, it appeared that his CO had a one-track single-mindedness to rival even the Borg's.

Didn't the guy ever take a break?

"I wasn't reading the report," Chakotay replied from his station behind Tom, his tone calm and not at all repentant. "It's the two separate summaries Seven and B'Elanna wrote for our perusal. Which of course _you_ refuse to read."

Ah, the summaries of objections, Tom shook his head. First Seven, then B'Elanna, stopping by the First Officer's office to state the reasons why they thought getting willingly locked up inside an unfamiliar planet's security grid was such an idiotic idea. It was good the two ladies dropped by separately. He didn't think B'Elanna would've particularly taken well to the fact that she and Seven had actually come up with identical reflections.

But then, he couldn't be all that sure about B'Elanna, could he? With the mood swings she'd been displaying lately…

"Please," Tom snorted, trying to keep his tone light as he turned around to lock his eyes with his crewmate. "Keep _those_ away from me. I think I've had enough irate half-Klingons for one day."

The words were out before he could stop them. With a silent curse, Tom mentally kicked himself as he averted his eyes from Chakotay's. Nope, he thought, doesn't matter how you feel about the situation, Tommy boy, this was not the thing to say in front of this man.

And as if his self-recrimination wasn't bad enough, for that one brief moment before he dropped his gaze, he thought he caught a faint glimmer of the same dark speculation in Chakotay's eyes that he'd noticed in his office. That hint of troubled confusion bordering on yet-unsubstantiated anger that seemed to ask: _What happened guys, what's wrong between you two? _Or perhaps more accurately: _What the hell have you done to fuck up **now**, Paris?_

And who could blame him? Everyone knew about Chakotay's loyalty to the people he cared about, and didn't that same loyalty demand that he always take side of his beloved B'Elanna against anyone who pissed her off? Besides, what was Paris to him other than the guy who had never given him anything but a headache? In a sudden twinge of hurt mingled with anger, Tom felt his jaws clench at the memory of B'Elanna barely sparing a glance in his direction, while she gave Chakotay and Tuvok her detailed report—even though he'd been present there the whole time.

However, when he looked up he was startled to see a hint of—waitaminute, was it sympathy?—in Chakotay's eyes, a quick unexpected flash of good-natured indulgence that flabbergasted Tom completely, breaking the spell. All of a sudden, it was as if that look had never been there in the first place. As if it had been nothing but a figment of his imagination.

"What can I say?" Chakotay was speaking again, so Tom shook himself out of his reverie to pay attention. "My duties as the _First One _require me to be adequately acquainted with every aspect of Zokaa'r society." There was playful humor in the First Officer's voice. "I am not just a _navigator_, you know, unlike _some _people…"

Okay, Tom blinked; this was definitely a new one. He looked into Chakotay's eyes, feeling totally exasperated and yet sensing his recent stab of anger—which was at heart mostly self-directed—subside for the moment. He had no idea what the commander was up to. Hell, maybe it was nothing more than just a chance he was being given to make the best of the current conversation, for the sake of the mission. After all, the two of them were going to be on the planet together for the next three days and it was always better to be amicable on an away mission, wasn't it?

But what if it was something else, something more?

He decided to play along, if only for the time being. "I am not just the _Navigator_," he huffed and drawled dramatically. "I am the _Guide_. The one who leads the way, if you give due credence to what Minister L'Ragh said."

"Ah yes, Minister L'Ragh, of the System-wide Vessels Navigation Control," Chakotay was grinning fully now. "Yeah, I gathered he's in charge of briefing all incoming alien pilots."

"All incoming alien pilots who _guide_ their vessels into the Great Unknown otherwise known as the admittedly hostile Delta Quadrant."

"Well, Tom, I can't deny the hostile part…"

"Then is it logical to assume," said Voyager's Tactical Chief, "that I, as the _Observer_, must be fully prepared to keep an eye on the _First One _and the _Guide_, in case they get into… unprecedented trouble in the midst of this… Great Unknown?"

Tom couldn't help but roll his eyes at that, as Chakotay's soft chuckle came from behind him. "Why, Tuvok," he started incredulously, "you almost say that as if we have a _history_ or something."

Hence, that was how their journey down to the planet began.

His mood swinging from morbid to merry in a manner of minutes, Tom hoped things would remain jovial throughout their three-day mission as well. He knew the captain was finding it particularly difficult to rebound from her disappointment than she normally would in other circumstances. It was unfortunate, he thought, that her frustration stemmed from the simple fact that the civilization they'd be doing business with was a patriarchy—a revelation that she'd taken as a personal affront to her authority.

He didn't know what they could've done to prevent things from unfolding the way they did. Voyager had, after all, encountered female-dominated societies on various occasions in the past, and Janeway being a female had led matters on those instances by herself, while the male members of her command staff had willingly taken a back seat. So it wasn't like the Zokaa'rians painted some completely outlandish scenario or something. To explore the new and the exotic—wasn't that the reason why they had put on the uniform?

At least, that was the spirit, wasn't it?

Their hosts now seemed to be taking the utmost care to direct the highest respect to Voyager's captain, now that they knew who she was. She was personally going to be attended by the Chieftain from the home planet they were visiting. And she'd be outside, along with the rest of the Voyager crew, free and unhindered by any alien high-level security grid—unlike the three of them, who'd be virtually locked in and unreachable for three days.

This setting, if not prompting outright suspicions like Voyager's resident Borg and half-Klingon were harboring, should've at least made all of them a bit cautious. They all knew that during their trade negotiations, they would be totally incommunicado with Voyager, and completely at the mercy of their hosts.

As it was, it was a prospect they just had to accept.

Especially now that the Zokaa'r repair teams had already started arriving on Voyager. The station Voyager was currently docked at also served as dry-dock, and the preliminary repair work, as a goodwill gesture, was soon to begin on the badly damaged vessel.

That, of course, had been all the stimulus the captain had required.

Tom was just hoping Chakotay and Tuvok's negotiation skills would get Voyager a rewarding deal with the Zokaa'rians. The repair work was the primary reason they'd come asking for help, but there were several other trade items they would be interested in exchanging with the Sovereignty, such as food and medical supplies and power enhancement equipment. Information exchange was Voyager's primary trading tool. There was a whole other universe which the Sovereignty didn't know much about and the better the impression the three-man team made with that information, the better the trading chances would be for all of them.

Something told Tom that in this instance how good an impression Voyager made would make all the difference in how the three-man team was treated on the surface. He just hoped Janeway's recently developed foul mood would be improved by the time the Chieftain arrived on Voyager. For diplomacy's sake.

The lift-off signals sent back and forth between the three crewmates correlated with incoming signals from the station grid over the planet and from Voyager's Bridge, as the three officers worked in synchrony. With everything going according to plan, the shuttlebay doors slowly opened, and the Flyer rose at his command, quietly slipping out of the hangar—and once again they were greeted by the magnificent spectacle of the station at which they were docked.

It was a large, strikingly impressive lattice of powerful titanium-based alloys coiled around and integrated with what seemed like the biggest and most sophisticated space station he'd ever come across. It was beautifully constructed and positioned over the lush blue-green planet. What was even more amazing was the fact that this particular league of technology was evidently not unlike what seemed to be in place around all the other habitable worlds in Zokaa'r space.

As the Flyer neared the station grid, flying towards the planet's atmosphere, the invisible energy barrier enveloping the entire planet came down. Tom knew the time of the grid opening to admit them was to coincide with the arrival of the Chieftain's Royal Vessel, and he watched as the Flyer passed the long sleek black ship approaching Voyager. The ship had an unconventional design, aesthetically appealing and impressive, and was obviously built for speed and luxury.

His eyes suddenly flew to his controls, the Royal Vessel momentarily forgotten, as Chakotay's voice broke through his haze, announcing the changes in hull pressure at the Flyer's descent. As the Flyer followed his commands and sank deeper into the clouds swirling in Kel'nohr's blustering atmosphere, those inborn deep-rooted instincts again took over—the same music that sang to him each time he was at the helm of a vessel. The ionic charges frayed against the Flyer's frame, rocking it from one side to the next, as the small ship plunged at his behest, and all he felt was a sheer rush of pleasure as his fingers danced over the controls, easing the ship down towards the planet's surface.

And then the clouds parted, and he forgot the Royal Vessel completely. They had taken scans from orbit, had some idea of the level of technological advancement the Zokaa'rians dwelled in, but the world visible below them now—Kel'nohr, the planet they were visiting—painted a picture more impressive than almost anything they'd come across in the Delta Quadrant.

Skyscrapers strewn for as far as the eye could see, sketched across a lush, immaculately manicured terrain from which rose magnificent city dwellings and complexes in breathtaking, alien splendor. His eyes widened as the Flyer passed over a large body of crystal-clear water and he saw dwellings _inside_—large glass domes constructed at various depths, their transparent surfaces reflecting light in the brightness of day.

"Did you see those?" he asked his companions, not able to wrench his eyes away from the spectacle, feeling dumbstruck with amazement.

"Yeah…" he heard Chakotay's voice behind him, and realized the First Officer was talking about the swank anti-grav vehicles rushing across the sleek smooth lanes, weaving their way between lodgings which seemed to be constructed on anti-grav platforms themselves—hovering above the ground.

Not a bad place to be, he heard himself think. Patches of beautifully cultivated natural habitats sat amidst a seemingly unending trail of state-of-the-art metropolitan structures. Shuttles flew across the city skies. Hover-cars raced over the ground. Sky-high living quarters floated in mid air. Aesthetically appealing domiciles were constructed at various locations over the clear blue oceans. Not a bad place at all; he felt his explorer's heart skip a beat or two in excitement.

A beeping console took him out of his awed reverence long enough to confirm the set-down point as indicated by the Kel'zian authorities, and he slowly, carefully brought the Flyer down. With a flourish, the small ship settled in the vicinity of the impressive official looking structure in front of which they could already see the welcoming committee gathering.

Taking in a deep breath, he turned around on his seat. He looked first at Chakotay, and then at Tuvok. "Well, this is nice, I'd say…" he began.

"Though not wholly extraordinary," Tuvok said, "the dwellings on this world seem sufficiently imposing."

Tom grinned. "High praise from a Vulcan."

"Indeed," the Vulcan replied.

Tom again caught wry amusement on Chakotay's otherwise relaxed face, and for a moment wondered how he could always look so calm.

"Might I remind you," Tuvok started again, "that in your incredulous excitement, it would be imprudent if you were to attempt to step out of the Delta Flyer ahead of Commander Chakotay and I? As the _First One_, he is to emerge ahead of the _Observer_, and as the _Observer_, I go before the _Guide_."

Great! Tom smirked, feeling an urge to roll his eyes again.

"Thank you for your timely reminder, Tuvok," Chakotay nodded.

"Just making sure proper protocol is followed."

"Right," Tom drawled. "Do you think the Zokaa'rians were impressed by the _Guide's _simply phenomenal navigating capabilities?"

At this, the First Officer got up. He looked at both members of his away team closely, and smiled. "Let's find out."

And that was when the exit hatch to the Flyer was pushed open, and Voyager's negotiating team stepped out into the hot, invigorating Kel'nohr afternoon.

* * *

The Gods of Nature worked in strange ways.

His Excellency, Chieftain of the Kel'nohr home world, Kel'kar'vheel the Eighth, looked down at his beautiful red-blue-green world from the viewport of the alien starship, Voyager, and smiled.

If he strained his eyes hard enough, he was sure he could make out the beautiful grayish shadows of the first autumn clouds over the Western Continent, where his beloved place of birth lay. He still remembered his childhood days when he'd look up at the darkening reddish skies, pregnant with impending rain clouds, and listen to the sounds of the many critter species greeting the coming rains with their own prayer-sounds.

Such strange inexplicable games Nature played.

All life on his own world, all life on all the worlds in this system, perhaps all life on all the planets on all the three systems in the imperious Zokaa'r Sovereignty, sentient or otherwise, were comprised of a superior male and a companion female created to work under him. Of all the sentient and non-sentient life he'd come across on his many voyages into the galaxy, the male of the species was not only more dominant but also of indomitable beauty and the ordinary female's acquiescence and dutiful disposition was obvious in the face of the supreme male form.

No matter how far he traveled, he came across the same phenomenon, everywhere, with every species he encountered.

And yet, here on this alien vessel, docked at the grid station of his very own world, he had to come across a walking contradiction: a female who thought herself superior to the insuperable male form.

It was bizarre to say the least.

All the males he'd met of this vessel, the ones who'd gone down to the homeworld whom he'd met on the visual link as well as the ones he'd been greeted by upon docking, seemed of superior intelligence and gifted with able bodies. Much more so than this quite ordinary looking female he was now standing before. Even stranger was the fact that the other females he'd come across had been of much preferred pulchritude than this one, and yet it seemed it didn't make any difference to these people. They chose leaders of the wrong gender, and even when doing that had chosen someone who had failed to impress him upon first glance.

He found it hard to imagine how such an incongruity could allow this female to rule a people fairly.

What was even more astonishing was her barely concealed disdain for the fact that her male command crewmembers had been invited to do the negotiating by the supreme Zokaa'r Sovereignty. She tried to hide it, very valiantly indeed—yes, he could see the effort plainly—but unfortunately, her efforts didn't meet with much success.

Yet, although this was the first instance that he had come across a female who had achieved such a high level in the hierarchy of her vessel, he knew of many System Kings who fostered contempt and doubt towards the very people they had sworn to trust and protect. He knew what it was like to be subordinate to an unworthy System King, and thus felt a faint tremor of empathy for the crew that must be forced to endure this female's false dominance. He supposed they had learned to endure it the way he had.

He thought of his childhood days again when he'd stared up at the resplendent darkening skies, and remembered how his father, His Excellency, Chieftain Kel'kar'vheel the Seventh, would tell him stories of the ancient days when his people still breathed the air of freedom. And tell him dreams of the soon-to-be future days when once more the people would sing the songs of liberation.

Now standing here in this alien vessel and looking down at his beautiful imprisoned world, he could almost hear the freedom chants of his ancients. He suddenly knew that this strange female would be instrumental in bringing him closer to that liberation. Like drops of water falling upon a stone face, this vessel led by this female captain would be one more drop in the continuing effort for Kel'nohr's freedom from Zokaa'r domination.

He blinked and nodded, as he got the signal through the surgically hidden device inside him. The alien negotiating team had landed and settled in. It was time to play the game the Gods of Nature had obviously planned for him.

His Excellency, Chieftain of the Kel'nohr home world, Kel'kar'vheel the Eighth, turned around to face Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager and gave her one of his most endearingly sweet smiles. He'd spent a lifetime bowing to false Kings; what was taking care of one frail, plain alien female who thought more of herself than she should?

* * *

United Federation of the Delta Quadrant Planets.

Tuvok knew it was illogical to think of this gathering as an equivalent of the Federation, knew Voyager had seen far too many species and worlds in their six year journey into the DQ than this large banquet hall could possibly hold, knew the hierarchical structure of the politics this _alliance_ seemed to observe was not analogous to how the Federation did things. Still. So many species. So many races. So many different people breathing the same air, under the same roof.

It was not logical, no. But somehow, in a purely visceral sense, it felt instinctive, almost habitual, to look for the familiar within the exotic.

To try to find recognizable patterns within an exclusively alien arrangement.

And it was alien indeed. As alien as anything they'd come across in the Delta Quadrant, if not more so. The level of technological advancement alone was unparalleled to anything he'd seen in the Federation. And yet, the basic building blocks of all ways of life—all politics between people, all bureaucratic systems holding races together—all of it seemed to follow a familiar pattern. Familiar enough to make them feel welcomed in this extrinsic environment.

One species to originate from the planet, to form the government, and yet so many more to be welcomed—outsiders bringing their own other-worldly, exotic tastes to one's world. And then to have representatives from the larger alliance—the Monarch itself—be present in key decision-making positions. For an imperialistic society, this structure was not all unlike the Federation. On the face of it, it was royalties and crowned heads ruling, but didn't the bureaucratic officials coexisting with the local population work similarly to the Federation council?

Then again, there were those who called the Federation an imperialistic hegemony too.

"It brings great contentment to the Zokaa'r High Council to come across new faces, to get the opportunity to make unsullied alliances with those worthy of being friends in these changing times, from across the opening borders of our worlds."

Tuvok's eyes settled on Great Overseer, Resh'lon of Du'kazinon IV, the highest-ranking official of the Zokaa'r High Council present on Kel'nohr, now standing up to make the welcoming speech, and suddenly recognized the flaw in his initial reasoning.

All the Zokaa'rians present in the governments on all of these worlds had "noble blood", and that was where the difference between this _alliance_ and the Federation lay. The overseeing of the three star systems under the System Kings, as well as the individual worlds under the Great Overseer, was kept in the regal families—passed on from fathers to sons. It was the most intensely adhered to and widely spread form of patriarchic establishment that he'd ever seen.

Although, Tuvok admitted, the Great Overseer, despite his officious and impressive-sounding title, seemed a most congenial man, his demeanor candid and very amicable with the away team.

"We gather here to greet our honorable guests," continued Resh'lon, "the remarkably stalwart and competent command crew of the Starship Voyager…who have traveled thousands of light years on their quest to return home." A light murmur went through the gathering. "Home—how sweet is the sound of that word…how hard you must have tried, what pains you must have felt to be so far away from your beloved homeland." Resh'lon looked at Voyager's First Officer and his team and smiled.

"We all know what it is like to be away from one's home." The Zokaa'rian Royal looked at the people sitting around the banquet tables, and Tuvok noticed several of them nodding at his words. "And hold you and your crew in high regard, Commander," he turned to Chakotay, and Tuvok saw the First Officer return the sentiments with a solemn nod and respectful smile. "We welcome you to the trade negotiations with arms open in friendship and goodwill."

The crowd stirred as the Zokaa'rian Royal took his place at the head of the table, and the conversations that had abated earlier during his short oration recommenced.

As Tuvok had expected earlier on, there were several females present in the gathering—females that were in fact holders of positions of authority. Coming from a matriarchy himself, Tuvok knew very well that despite the overall impression these forms of governments gave to the outsider, they couldn't possibly survive without being influenced by members of the gender opposite to the one that held the ruling position.

Tuvok's eyes narrowed as he looked around his table, his sharp ears picking up threads of conversations taking place, and tried to search for any signs of disarray. He could find none. The Sovereignty followed a patriarchic structure, and everyone seemed content with it. Over a dozen different species had gathered in this room, had come together hundreds of years ago under the Zokaa'rian Monarchy to form this structure of governance, and it had to have worked well for it to have survived so long.

It was reassuring to note the Zokaa'rians had taken well to the members of the Voyager entourage. Commander Chakotay's calming influence and diplomatic expertise especially was a favorable factor in how things had gone so far. Tuvok only hoped the same held true for Captain Janeway's persuasive powers, which would be the driving force in how things would come to fruition for the rest of the crew—her actions undoubtedly an important facet of how the final decisions would affect Voyager, whether she was aware of it or not.

He had held a long discussion with the captain in the privacy of her Ready Room, after the invitation to visit the homeworld had been extended to the three members of Voyager's command crew. He had done all he could to reassure the captain of her ultimate authority, and how important it was to use all her influence in getting the best deal possible with the Zokaa'rians. With her usual aplomb, she had told him there was nothing to worry about, and that of course she knew all that was at stake and had everything under control. She said she was going to treat this as a usual first contact.

In a normal setting, perhaps Tuvok would have taken her at her word.

However, he knew this was neither a normal setting, nor her initial reaction to meeting the Zokaa'rians a normal happenstance. It was illogical to be uncertain of one's commanding officer due to her one-time inability to keep her emotions in check. But it was also illogical to let those emotions out of control in the first place. No matter how human that need may be.

His eyes on the cheerful faces around him, Tuvok found himself frowning in recollection. The more he tried not to think of things past, the more he found himself troubled by such thoughts. If he were to be accurate, things had not been quite normal with the captain for the last several months. Beginning with the incident more than a year ago when they had found themselves stranded in a starless void with no habitable planets—where the captain had fallen into a depressive state—to her month-long incarceration of Tom Paris after Monea although she had already demoted him to ensign, to the incident with the Equinox, where she had displayed an obsessive streak in her fixation to apprehend Captain Ransom.

While it was true that things had ended favorably at the end of each of these instances, Tuvok still felt it was only out of sheer luck that they'd fared well—a gamble he wouldn't consider taking under normal circumstances. He also felt he had been derelict in his duty to his crewmates, and most importantly to his captain, when he'd failed to get through to her at crucial times. Foremost on his mind were the calamitous moments during the Equinox incident, when he'd backed down from a potential conflict because the captain had threatened to remove him from duty—even though the agreement she was in the process of finalizing with the aliens almost proved disastrous for the Equinox crew.

It appeared equally regrettable in the light of how things had fared between the captain and Commander Chakotay, who was removed from duty for the very same reason: the First Officer had simply chosen to challenge her decisions.

Tuvok suddenly caught the eye of Ensign Paris, who had been seated next to one of the female members of the High Council at the end of the table, and received a quick flash of acknowledgement. It appeared Voyager's Chief Pilot was enjoying his discussions with his exquisite companion. His eyes then fell on the First Officer who now sat between the Zokaa'rian Governor-general and one of the high ministers of the Kel'zian cabinet, softly speaking to them as they asked him questions about Voyager. He realized the aliens were fascinated by Voyager's First Officer—his quiet strength was often impressive in the wake of his calm and steady perceptiveness.

Tuvok knew things hadn't been quite the same between Voyager's two commanding officers since that discordant encounter during the Equinox incident. Although things had continued to happen in their routine fashion in the last few months, that feeling of unease remained; the feeling that something wasn't quite right. A ship's command structure was one of the most important factors that helped determine the smooth running of affairs for the whole crew. Even the slightest disturbance had the potential of causing incalculable complications, and it was his concern that such a possibility be avoided at all costs.

"Commander Tuvok."

At the sound of his name being called, his focus shifted to the High-Council member sitting next to him, a young Zokaa'rian male with a smiling face.

"Minister Jess'phan," he replied.

The Zokaa'rian nodded, as his blue eyes sparkled. "Commander, I've come to a most remarkable realization. I am told you're a telepath…"

Tuvok sat back as one of his brows lifted in acknowledgement. "I am merely a touch-telepath. Being a Vulcan, my telepathic abilities are limited and not normally used with species other than my own."

The Zokaa'rian frowned. "You mean you do not communicate with your shipmates with your abilities?"

"To attempt to do so would be inconclusive," Tuvok continued. "Aside from two other members of my species among the junior crew on my vessel, none of the other crewmembers present are capable of communicating telepathically."

"Ah. I must tell you I find the concept of telepathy absolutely fascinating." The young male smiled. "I've studied it in some detail out of sheer curiosity, especially since so many new people have started coming into our borders these days. There's been much talk of us meeting those with these abilities as well."

Tuvok's ears perked up at this. "There are other telepaths at this gathering?" He felt ill at ease that he hadn't felt any presence in all the time he'd been on the planet.

"Not this gathering, no." The minister shook his head. "Only fantastical tales of beings who have these abilities. Rumors, so to speak. We haven't traded with any such peoples as yet. In fact, you're the first telepath I've ever met."

Tuvok looked at the Zokaa'rian closely. "I see." He nodded. He sensed no deception from this alien, but he would keep his eyes and ears open for any changes in the pattern. The presence of telepaths in this Sovereignty could be significant. The more he knew about who they were dealing with, the better it would be. It was his job not just as Voyager's Security Chief, but also as the Observer.

The Zokaa'rian male was, however, impatient to continue the discussion he had started. "Tell me," he looked at Tuvok eagerly, "how does a telepath, even one with your level of cognitive abilities, find life on a vessel filled with so many _non-telepaths_?"

Thus began another round of the information exchange between Voyager and the Zokaa'rian Sovereignty. Tuvok settled back into his seat as he began to talk, knowing he was going to enjoy his part in the diplomatic proceedings due to this simple fact. Curiosity. About new cultures, new worlds. The urge to seek out new civilizations, and to explore undiscovered territories and meet new people. That was the reason they'd all taken the oath. Whether they admitted it or not.

He only hoped things were proceeding as well on Voyager as they were with the three away team members in the large banquet hall in the Kel'zian capital—where ties with the great alien Monarchy were being joined, in their attempt to negotiate for much needed supplies.

* * *

Kathryn Janeway felt she was finally getting things under control.

Making sure the table was set appropriately according to Kel'zian customs, her gaze drifted over to land on her guest once more. She looked into his eyes and felt her lips quirk in one of her clever, ever ready smiles.

Purple. What an unusually rare color for eyes, she thought. And how white his skin was. And yet the prominent ridges along his forehead, which would've given her a private urge to wrinkle her nose in distaste, somehow managed to enhance the aristocratic elegance of the alien's features. For a backward patriarchic imperialist, this man wasn't all that bad looking.

But why was her mind straying to these unnecessary and inefficient abstractions, she silently scolded herself—abstractions that were designed merely to waste her and Voyager's precious time? Her purpose was to negotiate for supplies and repair facilities, which Voyager needed very badly. Besides, there were very few men who could do for her what she really needed. She'd been disappointed too many times in her life to know better.

Yes, she had been perturbed at the Sovereignty's infraction, their inability to recognize her as the true paradigm of Starfleet Bureaucracy when they made first contact with Voyager. It was the captain who was the veritable leader of any Federation ship, of all ships, especially of this ship—traveling in this unknown region of space, lost, fighting hostile aliens, cruising her way valiantly through heretofore-unrevealed stars to reach home.

How utterly small of them, she had thought, to not recognize the significance of the true leadership of this valiant starship.

Chakotay for information exchange? Why? While it was certainly true that the man was well educated and well bred, in his own raised-from-humble-beginnings way—wasn't she, as the captain of the vessel, the best choice for information exchange? After all, she was from the long line of Starfleet officers who'd done the Federation proud time and again. What comparison was there between someone as refined as herself and a man who'd once been a felon to the Fleet—delectable as he had once been to her.

Why… it was _laughable_, she had found herself thinking.

But then she had let it go with the simple acknowledgement that it was but a primitive patriarchy. No matter how much technological advancement these people had made, if they judged the competency of a leader on the basis of his or her gender then all their advancement had obviously gone to hell.

She probably would've grown more and more bothered over this, if it hadn't been for the Chieftain's repeated assurances that it was her very consummate cultivation that was the cause of this current meeting. As the leader of the crew, she deserved the veneration of being visited by the highest ranking official in the Kel'zian government, a true native of the Kel'nohr home world. As the second in command under her, Chakotay had to go and do the information exchange. It was as simple as that. Nothing more. Besides, as defiant as he could be in personal situations, she knew Chakotay could be most effective in diplomatic matters.

Besides, his rebellious streak notwithstanding, she knew that his unwavering and often blind loyalty to her was never in question. He had pledged to be by her side and serve her devotedly till the end of times. Like everything else, that promise would also ensure his remaining available to her when and if she ever decided to change the parameters of their relationship.

Putting these wayward thoughts out of her mind, she focused on the tall, lean-bodied man standing in front of her.

His gaze was leveled straight at her face, uninhibited and direct, but somehow strangely unresisting. She didn't feel threatened by his scrutiny, but then she was hardly ever threatened by anyone's scrutiny. She knew she could handle the best of them at the best of times. And the worst at worst.

But still. There was something about this man.

Those exotic purple-speckled irises imbibed with swirling bluish hues. The blues becoming more pronounced as his pupils dilated at her own scrutiny. She knew she should be more cautious. Dilating pupils usually led to more complicated situations. And there were very few who could do what she needed.

But still there was something. Lurking deep within.

"Captain Janeway," Chieftain Kel'kar'vheel the Eighth sang out, an answering smile spreading on his face. "I can't tell you what an honor it is for the Zokaa'r Sovereignty to come across a leader of your fine credentials and acclaim. It is no wonder Voyager's journey across this part of the galaxy has been so astoundingly phenomenal." The Royal bowed his head modestly. "With a leader of your high erudition, the Monarch would've expected to have encountered no less."

Kathryn suddenly felt a lightness invade her, as a sense of fulfillment filled her. Yes, her being the revered leader being visited in seclusion was the right decision. Tuvok had been right. Her authority was implacable, her place in the hierarchy secure.

"Your Excellency." She inclined her head. "It is an honor for me and my crew to have this opportunity to meet and do negotiations with the great Zokaa'r Sovereignty."

She led her guest to sit down at the table before she continued. "Your government has been most generous in their offer to trade with us. More than anything else, I am grateful for the repair facilities you have permitted us to use. But so far we've not understood what is it that you require from us?" Her eyes were inquiring as she looked at the Chieftain.

The Kel'zian smiled. "As the captain of the team that has gone down to meet with the High-Council, you will be the one who will decide on how the information exchange takes place. But that can come later. Right now you mustn't bother yourself with such mundane details. I am more interested in hearing the story of Kathryn Janeway and her crew."

She stared in his eyes. "And how may I serve to satisfy your curiosity about my crew?"

The blues of his eyes darkened further, as he looked deep into her eyes. "Do not mortify me, my dear Captain. It is I, as the Chieftain, who's here to satisfy your curiosity about our culture since you'll be absent from the proceedings on the planet." A smile quirked on his lips, as he tipped his head in another gesture of humility. "And it is I who will serve you to make the information exchange taking place on the planet whole and complete." A glint appeared in his eye as his smile deepened. "In any capacity whatsoever."

As the meaning of the words sank, she felt an unexpected quiver run down her spine as for the first time, a delicately genuine smile grew on her face—and her mind squabbled over the possibilities presented before her.

Perhaps things weren't all that hopeless after all.

The bureaucratic entanglements involving this man and his primitive culture that had nearly put her off a while back suddenly seemed very secondary. Even the generic forehead that was reminiscent of so many ordinary Delta Quadrant species she'd seen didn't seem to matter much. As was the case each time she felt in control of a situation like this, a situation she secretly craved but hardly ever found the opportunity to experiment on—it was never what the man looked like that mattered to her, but how he acted. Whether he knew his place before her. Whether he knew the command structure her life inevitably followed, in all cases.

As Kathryn Janeway lifted her chin to regard the alien before her, she was greeted with a look she had seen during some very special moments in her private life. It was a look very few men had the proper intellectualism of achieving when dealing with her. It was a look that filled her with a sense of magnificence unlike any she'd encountered in the last many years on Voyager.

It was a look of a man who was discerningly shrewd enough to realize his place before Kathryn Janeway—scion of the long-running line of Starfleet aristocracy.

A look of a man who'd submitted. Willingly.

**Continued in Chap 2  
**


	3. Chapter 2

**Absolute Power, Chapter 2**

**TROUBLE IN PARADISE**

**_**Night 1**_**

Commander Chakotay had always thought water was supposed to look black at night.

He still remembered the late night swims at Lake Peñalosa at the edge of his village on Dorvan. After a long tiring day at the school, the water felt delightfully chilled and refreshing—or during vacations, a much needed break, after he was free from working with Kolopak in the cornfields during the day or helping him out with his artifacts after one of his expeditions.

How cool that water was, how rejuvenating the soothing inky curtains of waves surrounding him, how breathtakingly beautiful and black.

This water, though, even in the dark Kel'zian night, was anything but black.

Ichthyophtharizus—an underwater monolithic dome made of glinting glass, surrounded by sparkling blue water. A place of reverence for the Zokaa'rians, who being believers in the boundless strength within water, considered all life under the sea sacred. The outside of the dome was elegantly lit by gentle, soft-hued disks of illumination, filling the surrounding waters with beautiful, mesmerizing swells of azure light. The quiet ambience of the peaceful atmosphere occasionally broke as some sea creature came near the glass dome, bumping its fin against the luminescent surface, but then as it retreated, the peace too returned—bringing with it an irenic, ardent hush, one that could only exist at a place of worship.

"Our ancients considered the sea all-powerful," Resh'lon said as he stood next to Chakotay, his voice reverently low, his eyes fixed on the water around them. "Centuries ago, when our people still lived on planets, Ichthyoph was considered the symbol of strength and endurance… an inspirational being, powerful and resilient enough to carry the weight of the land around him. He was the god of nourishing, life-giving water. He lived at the bottom of the sea in his gem-engraved alcazar. We build these domes in his reminiscence, to try to get closer to the creatures that lived in the depths with Him."

_When his people still lived on planets._

Stuff from the ancient Zokaa'rian historical chronicles.

The idea of building advanced habitable settlements on asteroid belts was unique to start with. However, the thought of an entire civilization, especially one as diverse at the Zokaa'rians, to have completely evolved on such settlements and space stations was more than intriguing. The Zokaa'rians didn't have home planets. Instead their 'homeworld' was a giant cluster of asteroid-based settlements, mining fuels from the two binary stars giving off energy, and from special ores in the asteroids they resided on.

The fact that all the planets in the Zokaa'r home system were nothing more than poison-spewing masses of toxicity, and thus completely inhabitable, hadn't deterred the Zokaa'rians. Centuries ago, their ancestors had simply entwined their lives and their hopes around the science of pure space settlement and went about perfecting it.

Their ancient history, however, did speak of the worlds they had once inhabited, of oceans where hundreds of years ago they'd once dwelled. Being spiritual people, they'd stayed true to their traditions and found other worlds to conquer, while keeping the native lifestyle intact and unhindered. As someone who'd learned to respect the value of cultural integrity and the pursuit of traditional beliefs wherever he went, regardless of circumstances, Chakotay found himself immensely impressed by Zokaa'rian history.

Now, he found himself looking into the dark green eyes of the tall, broad-shouldered alien, his majestic stance imposing yet distinctively candid.

"Neptune," Chakotay murmured.

The regal brows rose in query, as the Zokaa'rian Royal turned to the commander.

Chakotay looked at Resh'lon and smiled. "In Earth's mythology, Neptune was the God of Sea," he explained. "A figure of spiritual inspiration and illusion, he lived in his palatial palace on the ocean floor and was known for his youthful, strong spirit, as well as being the protector of all waters. In ancient Earth astrology as well, Neptune is known as the planet of mercy and compassion."

"A most intriguing parallel between the mythologies of our two people." Resh'lon looked at Chakotay, his eyes warm in appreciation. "We see the _First One _is a man of prayer and deep insight. We are happy to note we were right to bring you and your team to the Ichthyophtharizus."

Chakotay inclined his head. "My ancestors believed in communing with nature, in existing in complete harmony with all creatures around us, whether they're on land, in air, or in water."

"Much like us. You will notice that although this isn't our native world, we live in complete harmony with the creatures in the Kel'zian waters." The Zokaa'rian gestured with one arm to indicate the dome and what lay beyond. "To us, all water is sacred, all life within water divine. We do not make impure their existence by imposing on their kind accommodation to us. We are revered that the sea creatures of all the worlds in the Zokaa'r Sovereignty have accepted us, they know us as we know them—through the sincerity of our spirit, through the pureness of our soul."

The Royal then looked at Tuvok. "And although we expected the _Observer_ to be perceptive of our spiritual inclination as well, him being a man of higher cognitive abilities," a teasing smile appeared on the Zokaa'rian's face as he turned to Tom, "I must say it is the _Guide _that surprises us the most. We didn't expect a man of his youthful flamboyance to be so observant, to be so in tune with our venerated sanctuary."

Chakotay felt a smile tug at his lips as he looked at Tom, noting the momentary surprise on the pilot's face at being addressed by Resh'lon. He had caught the rapt expression on the blond's face earlier, the blue eyes gazing reverently to the shimmering haven around them—filled with a soft, almost guileless enchantment.

Now he watched as after an initial struggle, the blond carefully composed himself and with an assuredness that, the First Officer suspected, came from attending hundreds of official Fleet functions and meeting off-world dignitaries as an admiral's son, smiled at the Zokaa'rian Royal and said, "Much as it's been an honor for us to meet with a ruler of your illustrious repute; one who is also so generous with guests. For you to share this beautiful, sacred, and exquisitely tranquil place with _us_ is a privilege unlike any we've ever known before."

The privilege of knowing the sea again. This unadulterated love of the water.

The ghost of Monea.

The last time Chakotay had seen Tom so enthralled was when they'd found that ocean floating in space. The look on his face reflected pure elation and uncountable delight. Bliss—suddenly found, rudely snatched away.

Even now, sometimes he'd catch Tom unawares—in the quiet of the night, or sitting across from him at a bar in Sandrine's, or during some distracting moment between shots in the middle of a late night pool game. And he'd notice this strange, fleeting, wistful countenance on those intense pale features—something that always made Chakotay uncomfortable, something he thought didn't quite suit his pilot. They'd left Monean space months ago but it seemed Monea had somehow stayed behind in Tom's heart—changing him on a level perhaps deeper than losing his rank.

Chakotay wondered if that was behind the recent 'developments' in Tom and B'Elanna's relationship. And then he blinked, shaking himself out of his thoughts, knowing he had to focus on the mission right now. The talk he'd had with B'Elanna would have to be pondered some other time. After all, despite his private observations of this situation, right now he was simply glad to see Tom's melancholy replaced with the same wonder that he liked seeing on his face—no matter how temporary it may be.

That wonder had obviously not gone unnoticed by the Royal officials either.

"Ah, a pilot and a diplomat." The Great Overseer laughed as he turned to Chakotay. "Not only is your team highly observant but greatly eloquent as well." And then he stepped forward, a hand each on Chakotay's and Tom's elbows, as he led the three men out of the glass passage, and into the exit room. "Come now, we all must go up and mingle and make way for those negotiations you are here to carry out."

In a matter of seconds, they were zipped out of the dome, using the same advanced transportation system that had deposited them there, and back into the large, beautifully decorated banquet hall. With its sparkling dark stone floors, vividly painted indigenous patterns adorning the high domed ceilings, and the intricately carved arches lining the open corridors, the hall was designed to dazzle its visitors with its grand allure and Chakotay had to admit that it succeeded splendidly.

If he had thought the size of the crowd was impressive last time, though, he was in for a surprise. The gathering had grown even larger in the hours of their absence, alive, bustling with excitement, an assortment of aliens thronging the hallways, clad in their colorful attire, speaking with loud, convivial, animated gestures.

Most interesting was the fact that the moment they stepped into the room, all eyes turned to them and then stayed riveted their way. Whispers and smiles and nods were relayed to the newcomers, symbols of the warm welcome they'd been awarded on their arrival. This was a place that welcomed outsiders, loved the exotic. These people had an urge to embrace the mysterious.

Chakotay paused to take account of the whole atmosphere, breathing in the fresh evening air, when he noticed that some of those stares were doing more than staying merely riveted. Feeling awkward, he saw many gazes interestingly roving up and down their frames, and then he shook his head as he realized the reason why. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the stiff-backed figure of Tom Paris next to him and felt an urge to grin at the cause of the pilot's discomfort.

Tuvok, walking alongside them, was the picture of perfect Vulcan impassiveness: Eyebrows arched in observation, long neck straight with cultural pride, characteristic half-frown properly in place. Chakotay wouldn't have expected any less from the Tactical Chief. But when it came to Tom… Heck, everyone was looking at them with the most unrelenting interest. And it was quite human to fidget in circumstances such at these.

After all, they did make quite a sight, didn't they?

The Zokaa'rian dress code for alien diplomats chosen to meet in the Ichthyophtharizus, and later for negotiations, was very, very specific. Yards of flowing smooth silks in earthen shades, like a beautifully textured Terran specimen of Charmeuse. All cut and tailored into form fitting Zokaa'rian style dress suits, fitting their contours perfectly. A long-sleeved waist-length body-hugging luminescent silk caftan for a shirt, and tight trousers made of a textured fabric that clung to their legs and curves. It was flagrant enough by itself but if it had stayed at that, he doubted there would've been any problems.

But it hadn't, and there was an additional catch.

Complementing the dress were gleaming jewel-encrusted, gilt-bordered pleats of silk outlining their crotches and butts.

Although the soft silk felt exquisite against his body, tingling his skin and somehow enhancing his nerve endings, the whole ensemble drew way too many eyes—making him feel self-conscious despite all his inner restraint.

"I never thought being trussed up like a stuffed chicken was ever gonna be a requirement at a diplomatic gathering," Tom muttered in complaint next to him.

This time the grin couldn't be hidden. "Relax, Tom," he teased the pilot, "it could be worse."

"Crotch plates?" Tom nearly squeaked. "What could be worse than crotch plates?" The pilot struggled to keep his voice low and Chakotay couldn't help but chuckle at their shared predicament. "God, Commander, I've never felt so…"

"Highly desired?" Chakotay cut him with a smile.

"Very _funny_." The blond rolled his eyes. "Uncomfortable," he emphasized. "Or so pointedly stared at in my whole life."

Chakotay turned his head at the blond as mock-puzzlement showed on his face. "What? Not even during those shared strut sessions at the K'tarian Strip Bars in San Francisco?"

"Of course not…" Tom's response was almost automatic before he caught himself. "Hey, how did you…" He stared at the grinning First Officer as he again stopped in mid-sentence. "Shit." He shook his head in amazement. "What's the matter, Commander? That Kel'zian wine got to you, huh?"

"Didn't drink much of it to affect me." Chakotay looked straight into Tom's eyes and then smiled. "Don't worry, Ensign. It's my own embarrassment talking. Besides," he turned amused eyes to Tom's frame. "I hardly think the clothes make a difference here. You made quite an impression on the Great Overseer. Youthful flamboyance and all."

They were nearing their destination, the ceiling-high, carved wooden doors being opened for their arrival. Chakotay noticed the large number of guards lined up against the walls of the Meeting Chamber, and from the corner of his eye saw Tuvok's head tilt up—and he knew the Security Chief had also made note of the elaborate security arrangements.

"Me?" Tom's eyes were glinting with sudden mischief. "You're kidding, right? You're the one he seemed to have all his attention on—the way he hangs on each and every word you say."

"Perks of being the _First One_, Tom."

"They are, aren't they?" Tom smiled and then he looked at Chakotay thoughtfully. "I can't believe you've actually done sleuthing on my dubious pre-Starfleet past."

"As opposed to your dubious post-Starfleet one?" Chakotay's smile turned wicked as Tom's eyes widened, and he decided this was much too fun to pass up. "You think I'd hire a pilot to fly my ship without doing proper research on him? Not the way I work, Tom. I happen to know _all_ your secrets, probably some that even _you_ don't know about."

With that he turned around, and following the lead of the Great Overseer led his team inside the Meeting Chamber, completely missing the strange look that passed over Tom's suddenly tense face. And then Resh'lon and his Cabinet members were welcoming them to the negotiations, guiding them to their intended seats one by one, and that moment was muted in a flurry of diplomatic activity.

In the cataclysmic events that would follow in the next few days, that lone missed look would ultimately come to stare Chakotay right in the face on more than one occasion.

* * *

Harry Kim peered at the padd in his hand.

The generator was in all probability situated somewhere on the planet, inside the barrier, he reasoned. The electromagnetic field above the planet atmosphere created energy signals that acted as a natural defensive shield for any planet, he thought excitedly, so it was possible the same effect could be reproduced in a laboratory as well—as an electronic faux-facsimile of a natural shield. His mind squabbled with mathematical equations, his eyes widening with wonder as he poured over the data in front of him.

"Stupid Starfleet regulations. Damned thick-headed bureaucratic royal idiots."

It was really quite fascinating. He ignored the 'noise' in the background and continued with his study; it was possible the EM field generated by the sun also had some effect on the barrier. The numbers on the screen in front of him hinted at something, he wasn't sure what, but there had to be a clue somewhere. Was it deliberate, was it unintentional? What he wouldn't do to figure this one out.

"Don't know who the HELL thinks getting locked up inside a freaking unknown planet is a good idea?"

Harry sighed. Yes, well, he'd run scans on the energy barrier and being _bolted_ in would be a better analogy. He was getting some very strange energy readings from the space station as well. Hmm, he wondered if Seven's data would provide a useful insight. It was worth asking, he supposed. Maybe after they'd checked the progress of the Zokaa'rian teams onboard helping with the repairs, he'd go and talk to Seven.

"Stupid jerks who don't listen to the data we collect, no matter how damn PAINSTAKING our effort may be!"

Harry could take it no more. He dropped the scanner from his hand. With gritted teeth, he turned to his companion and snapped impatiently. "B'Elanna, will you STOP this?"

Angry eyes turned to him as a snarl started in the half-Klingon's throat.

"It's a pathetic situation, Starfleet, and you KNOW it," B'Elanna Torres growled. "Chakotay, Tom, and Tuvok are locked up inside that grid, and we have NO idea how the negotiations will turn out."

"B'Elanna, they're down there negotiating for the repair facilities the Zokaa'rians have already started providing for us." He asked, "What more do you want?"

"It's a first contact with a galactic superpower that we know NOTHING about." The engineer balled her fists, her nostrils flaring. "And SHE sent them inside without batting an eye."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Is it really the captain you're pissed off at…"

B'Elanna glared at him, her breath ragged, her face scrunched. He saw her mouth work for a few seconds but no words came out.

Shaking his head, he sighed. "You didn't tell him, did you?"

"Dammit," B'Elanna snapped.

Harry threw up his hands. "When were you planning to?"

"I was ABOUT to when the Detarians attacked…"

Harry looked at her unbelievingly. "That was over two weeks ago."

B'Elanna went on as if she hadn't heard him. "…and then there was so much repair work to do because the whole damn ship was broken that we didn't have even five minutes together for the NEXT two weeks, and then…we met the mighty Zokaa'rians…

Harry stared hard at his friend, feeling frustration fill him. "You couldn't figure out how to approach him, could you?"

"Fuck this, Harry." She seemed on the verge of tears, so intense was her anger at herself.

"You chickened out." He shook his head in resignation. "You broke up with the guy but you didn't have the nerve to tell him that it was over."

She averted his eyes in dejection. "I was going to…"

He gnashed his teeth. "And now you're upset because he's locked up inside that grid and you didn't even let him know why you've been such a bitch to him for the past two weeks."

She looked up at him at this, pain and self-loathing filling her beautiful dark eyes. "I didn't want it to end like this, Starfleet."

Harry felt his heart wrench at the pain in her eyes. He cared for her as much as he cared for Tom. They were both his best friends. "I know, Maquis." He softened his tone, knowing he'd seen the breakup coming months before either Tom or B'Elanna had realized. Those two were simply too much alike to have survived long together. It was terribly disappointing but it wasn't the fault of either of them. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. Don't worry." He put his hand on her delicate wrist. "He'll be back in three days and then you can tell him."

B'Elanna stared at him, her throat convulsing. "But the question is: will he understand?"

"He's Tom Paris." Harry looked into her eyes. "He has plenty of experience in understanding when things don't work out."

* * *

Kathryn picked up the ornate gold-rimmed chalice, and delicately sipped at the sweet Kel'zian wine.

Hmm, a little too sugary, she thought. There was a slight zing to it that gave the impression of fine aging, but it was nowhere near as stimulating as the 2313 Cuvée de Frontignan from her father's premium collection. Perhaps not even comparable to the fine wines she used to stack in her duplex in San Francisco before Voyager. But still, it was passable, she reluctantly yielded. Barely.

Certainly better than anything she'd ever tasted in the Delta Quadrant before. Definitely better than that barely-drinkable distilled hooch Chakotay continuously passed on as a Delta Quadrant vintage to her, she sneered, bringing bottles to those forever dwindling working dinners. But then, what would Chakotay know about vintage wines, she sniffed. The man barely swallowed two sips per occasion. The backward cultures on Dorvan V obviously didn't teach the proper etiquette of wine drinking.

She took another sip as if to dispel the bad taste those unwanted thoughts had brought, and then shifted her gaze to look at her host.

Despite her earlier reservations, Kathryn had found herself warming to Kel'kar'vheel's charms. It had to be said: the man definitely knew how to treat a lady. He was eloquent, well-mannered, educated and cultured, and best of all he treated her as nothing short of a queen. She had known many men in her life and she always instinctively knew when someone with ulterior motives was playing her. She got no such vibes from the Chieftain.

Unless you considered the exclusive wining and dining the Chieftain had bestowed upon her for the last day as 'playing' and his intrinsic desire as a well-bred man to please a woman as sensitive to the finest of tastes as she was as 'ulterior motives'.

She felt a smile grow on her face. Ah yes, she had particularly enjoyed getting all the details about the technology of the space station where Voyager was currently docked. It was unquestionably an extraordinary structure, exhibiting an astounding use of unconventional technology. The Zokaa'r Sovereignty and its 'alliance' with the Kel'zians may have been built on the dubious foundations laid by primitive patriarchal thinking, but she had to admit that they had indeed created a powerful system. And from what Kel'kar'vheel had told her so far, it had not been achieved by solely depending on the male halves of the populations.

There was something almost profound about this tale Kel'kar'vheel had woven, something sagacious and almost sublime in the pureness of his words as he'd spoken to her in that mellifluous voice of his. She had sensed a terrible loneliness in him that spoke of past injustices and his resolve to overcome any obstacles in his difficult path to serve as the true sovereign of his world. To uncover the truth. To take revenge.

This tale of an older sister he'd once had, this scientist who'd lost her life amidst the despicable cruelties of war, this sibling he felt intense love for, almost had the ring of a fairytale.

This strong woman scientist, who was ahead of all her peers, who was fiercely strong and driven by the passion to succeed at all costs, who was unbearably beautiful and feminine in all her needs, and who had to live in the atrocious barbarity of this antiquated patriarchal society. This strong, unfortunate, desperate woman, who found cures for ailments no one around her cared to remedy. The ailment of loneliness, of wanting to reach out to the universe, of wanting to escape the oppression she must've faced here every day. The oppression of being simply the best and finest of all breeds, of being above everyone else around her.

Kathryn utterly hated to assign platitudes to her personality, but she could see a little—or perhaps a lot—of herself in this woman. Or maybe it was the way Kel'kar'vheel told the story, the way he related how she was the first female of any true merit or meaning he'd come across in the years since he'd grieved for his fallen sister. Kathryn Janeway: the first woman who was strong enough to rise above the rest and to challenge the male dominated faux-supremacy so prevalent in the universe in general. She sighed. It was as if he knew her, as if he truly understood her—and the more he spoke the more she felt like she knew him, too.

There was still that look in his eyes, the look that brought that familiar lightness into her heart. It was a look that told her that she had arrived. After years of loneliness in the Delta Quadrant, she'd finally found someone who could meet her on her own terms.

This realization gave her an exhilarating, nerve-tingling thrill that brought a gasp to her lips and a sudden wetness to her heated feminine core—a wetness that was almost reminiscent of those torrid sensations the sweet scents of the old wood of her father's writing table had brought to her, when she was but her Daddy's little girl, the only one Daddy truly loved, the one who frequently fell asleep under Daddy's oak table in his study, filling her lungs with his familiar smells even when he wasn't there.

Daddy was dead long ago, Kathryn felt her eyes glaze with bruising memory, but she had heretofore vowed that what she couldn't have with Daddy, she would have with those who wanted her the way she liked to be wanted.

The way she liked to be _worshipped_.

She found Kel'kar'vheel's appreciative gaze sluggishly scorching her frame and tilted her head to stare deeply into his purple eyes, beckoning him with a broad, slow-building smile that spoke volumes. Yes, she would have what she desired, just as she'd always gotten everything she'd ever wanted.

There were no two ways about it.

Kathryn Janeway was born to succeed. On her terms, at any cost.

* * *

Tom Paris hated giving into a morbid frame of mind so early in the game.

Never one to appreciate staying dejected for long durations, he couldn't believe his mood had swung back to morbid in such a short time. Especially since he had no real professional reason to feel so pathetically despondent.

The ride from the banquet hall after the meeting was over had been pleasant enough. Their housing in the Imperial Suites was luxurious and more than accommodating. The rooms he'd been assigned were beautifully decorated with lush carpets enhancing the black of the gleaming stone floor. The large bed was comfortable and the cool breeze coming in from the adjoining back garden was a pleasant diversion.

Plus it wasn't like they had faced any resistance from the Zokaa'rian and Kel'zian cabinet members to any of their intended trade proposals. The mission had been progressing like a charm.

Their initial requests and the drafts of Voyager's overall requirements that they had brought up in the negotiations seemed well within the Zokaa'rian's domain. In fact, the Zokaa'rians seemed very interested in the prospective information exchange. Voyager's database had billions of terraquads of information on everything from the Borg to the countless species they'd come across in the Delta Quadrant, to the many diverse cultures and traditions from the Alpha Quadrant. While Chakotay's sharp yet well-cultured form of diplomacy had paved the way for the more in-depth negotiations, the data exchange presentations the three of them had given to the gathering appeared to have literally sealed the success of the mission for them.

All in all, it had been a very fruitful first day—one that in normal circumstances should've left Tom Paris in the happiest of moods.

Yet all he could think of were Chakotay's pointed words at the end of his last conversation with him.

No matter how hard Tom tried—and damn, he had tried really hard; he'd racked his brain, stomped across the stone floor, wrinkled his brow in deep thought, balled his fists in consternation—he couldn't help but think that Chakotay's comment about his 'dubious post-Starfleet past' had been a deliberate taunt. He tried to think of Chakotay's warm eyes then, the playfulness he'd seen in them, but every time he tried to focus on that he got distracted by the memory of those words ringing in his ears. Couple that with the unbelievably pretentious comment about Chakotay knowing all of Tom's secrets, especially the ones he himself didn't know about, and all Tom could think of was the moment in the shuttle where Chakotay's eyes had held that accusatory glint to them.

What the fuck was going on?

Had B'Elanna told Chakotay what a loser Tom Paris really was? Was that the secret Chakotay was talking about? Or was he talking about Tom's less-than-respectable pre-Maquis days? Had he been such a big disappointment to Chakotay that everything he did now would be judged on the basis of his 'dubious past'?

Tom shook his head, struggling to sort out his thoughts. He had a nagging suspicion that he was overlooking something, or maybe reading too much into the whole situation. But every time he tried to straighten his head out, the recollection of that look in Chakotay's eyes would fog his thoughts.

Dammit all to hell, Tom huffed. Chakotay had _always_ caused him major agitation. He didn't know why but the man had been a serious distraction in Tom's life since they'd met. Tom never really knew where to place him or how to handle him without his heartbeat thundering in his chest. His reactions to Chakotay had always been so damn extreme. Extreme anger. Extreme anguish. Extreme distrust, loyalty, pain, adversity, joy. Everything was extreme when it concerned Chakotay, so it was no wonder these circumstances had gotten such an extremely suspicious reaction out of Tom.

He sighed. If only he could ponder his situation, his relationship with Chakotay like a normal human being.

Tom paused in the midst of his mental wrangling when he heard a noise. Someone was at the door. He walked to the ornate glass door, pressed the controls, and watched as it slid open. There was no one there. With a frown, he stepped out into the corridor and looked around. There was no one anywhere close by. He could see the four Kel'zian security guards standing at their posts at each end of the corridor but that was all. He looked at the doors to Chakotay's and Tuvok's suites on both his sides. He saw no lights visible from under the doors.

With a shake of his head, he stepped back into his room and closed the door. He saw the silken curtains on the garden doors in his suite swirling in the cool night air and wondered if the garden was secure from outside. As he turned to walk back to the bed, he heard the noise again, and this time he knew which direction it had come from.

The sound was coming from Chakotay's suite to his left—a knocking, or perhaps a tapping of some sort. What could Chakotay be up to at this hour? A sudden sense of alarm filled Tom. Forgetting about his pent-up anger towards the man in question, Tom grabbed his phaser and made for his main door again.

The whir of the Zokaa'rian transporter halted Tom's stride before he could reach the door. A sharp blow to his head landed before he could turn and see who his attackers were. Thick alien arms grabbed him before he fell to the floor, unconscious.

Within seconds, he was transported out of the Imperial Suites to the location where one of his companions had already been deposited—a secret, hidden cloister which their abductors had chosen for the fulfillment of their sinister plans.

* * *

Forensic analysis of a dead body often unearthed evidence that could lead one to its slayer, but what was to be done when it was not the slayer you were after but the accomplices of the one slain?

Tuvok stared at the dead Kel'zian lying on the morgue bed and mentally went through the procedural queries he was going to ask the security personnel on the surface in the wake of this incident. He watched the frenzy of chaotic activity in and out of the morgue, his Imperial hosts gathering all relevant personnel together, stacking up the security measures, and wondered if all this could have been avoided if he had been a bit more alert.

He watched the Zokaa'rian Great Overseer, Resh'lon enter the morgue with Minister Jess'phan, amid a small group of security personnel, and walk up to him.

The tall alien looked at Tuvok, his face troubled. "Commander, forgive us. We don't know how this could have happened. We had no indication at all that a mishap of this magnitude could occur at such a peaceful time."

Tuvok was sorry as well. If his phaser had been set on stun, this Kel'zian would've been alive and he could've led them to those who had been behind this entire episode. As it was, in the wake of the unexpected attack he'd faced, which undoubtedly was part of the attempt made on his shipmates, he had fired a phaser burst at his would-be abductors. It had proven deadly for this individual. In the end, as the security guards outside their rooms had been alerted, his remaining attackers had been forced to flee sans Tuvok.

However, his better fortune did not obliterate the fact that Commander Chakotay and Ensign Paris had in fact been abducted.

"I am aware of your disquiet, Great Overseer," Tuvok said to the Zokaa'rian High Council member. "Nevertheless it is the question of my shipmates' wellbeing that concerns me."

"_Observer_," Resh'lon looked into Tuvok's eyes, "please be assured that every inch of the _chosen ones_' rooms are being scanned and examined at this very moment. We will not sit back until we've recovered the _First One _and the _Guide_."

Tuvok looked at his two hosts. He could tell that the Great Overseer was sincere in his deep concern. He had been one of the most enthusiastic members from the Zokaa'rian group at the previous night's negotiations and the fact that he was in fact the highest ranked Zokaa'rian council member in the Kel'zian government had been a source of great relief for the Voyager team. However, mere concern would not help his two shipmates at the moment. They had to act now if they were to make any true progress.

"There were signs of a struggle in Commander Chakotay's rooms," Tuvok said, having thoroughly gone through the two suites himself. "Some articles of furniture were overturned, and there were signs of phaser fire on the walls. However, no such signs were found in Ensign Paris's quarters, except for the fact that he too, like Commander Chakotay, is nowhere in the vicinity of the Imperial Suites."

"The guards saw no one enter the rooms of either Commander Chakotay or Tom Paris during the night," Jess'phan replied.

Tuvok recognized the situation as grim and that it called for a firm disposition. He straightened his spine as he looked at the two Zokaa'rians. "You must at once take down the planet-wide shield grid so that I can alert my vessel of this incident. We have to get our security personnel down here to do a proper search for Commander Chakotay and Ensign Paris."

Resh'lon shook his head, his eyes contrite. "That won't be possible, Commander. We _cannot_ take down the shield grid at this time."

"Why is that?" Tuvok felt his frown deepen. "Surely you cannot adhere to your strict traditional regulations when an incident of this gravity has occurred. The three-day rule—"

Resh'lon interrupted him in the middle. "This has nothing to do with the three-day tradition of hospitality, Commander. We cannot take down the grid because," he sighed, "the generator that powers the grid is missing as well. Someone sabotaged the facility during the night and has moved the generator to a location we as yet know nothing about."

The Vulcan resisted an urge to sigh in dismay. "And the shield grid cannot be taken down if we do not have access to the generator."

Resh'lon nodded, the grimace on his face indicative of the dilemma he faced. "Not until the three days are over."

"What occurs after that?"

"When the grid doesn't come down at the scheduled time, the Kel'zian Guard Patrol should be alerted," Jess'phan replied. "On the Chieftain's orders, they can and should cut power to the emission beam connected to the grid regulator and the grid should come down from the outside."

Tuvok nodded, his mind scrambling to logically untangle the threads of this muddled affair. "Until that happens, we have no way of communicating with anyone outside."

"Unfortunately, no," Resh'lon said. "But we have full planet-wide resources at our disposal, Commander." His eyes locked with Tuvok's as he tried to reassure the Voyager Security Chief. "Since the grid hasn't come down, we know that wherever they are, the _First One _and the _Guide _are still somewhere on the planet. We will search for them and find them at any cost."

They had no other choice. The logical course of action would obviously be to make the most of those resources and do their best to locate the two missing officers.

"I would like to interview the security guards that were posted outside our quarters," said Tuvok.

Relief showed on the Great Overseer's face as if the simple act of doing something had in fact relieved much of his load. "Very well. I will call for them at once."

Tuvok stepped back to wait, his sharp eyes looking at all the security personnel moving about the room. He listened carefully as Minister Jess'phan consulted the Great Overseer over the arrangement of more security guards for Tuvok's safety and stepped closer to thank them for their concern, even though he didn't think he was in any danger. He wanted to speak to the security guards and to every council member who had been present at the proceedings the previous night. His hosts assured him it would all be arranged as soon as possible.

Unbeknownst to him and his companions, alien eyes watched his every movement, keeping tabs on him and the Zokaa'rian council members around him—their ears perked to instructions that made their way inside even through the energy barrier.

**Continued in Chap 3  
**


	4. Chapter 3

**Absolute Power, Chapter 3**

**PARADISE IS HELL**_**  
**_

_****Night 2****_

It was the sound of a scream that jolted Chakotay awake from his stupor.

With a start he realized that he had fallen into a drowse again. How he managed to keep doing that while confined in a cramped, frosty four by four cell was a mystery to his frazzled nerves. Must have something to do with whatever they'd drugged him with, he thought. This constant whirring in his ears, either drug-induced or caused by an actual stimulus from his surroundings, was absolutely agonizing, making him lightheaded.

He frowned and squinted at the metal door. What was that sound he'd heard? He was sure it had been a scream. Or was it something imagined, part of a half-remembered dream, from the fuzzy pathways of his delirious mind?

He straightened his legs in front of him and tried to rest his aching back against the stone wall as he stared at his surroundings again. The cell was too small, the wall behind him too cold and the floor underneath too damn hard. There were no windows anywhere on the walls that could give him a view of the outside, tell him how much time had passed since he'd been thrown in here. He thought it had to be close to a day, perhaps a little less, but couldn't be sure with all these semi-drowses he kept falling into.

Where were Tom and Tuvok, Chakotay wondered, feeling a wave of nausea approaching again, and breathing deeply, fought to stave it off. He hoped they had somehow evaded the people who'd abducted him. He wondered if the shield grid had come down and whether Voyager had been informed of this incident. He hated the fact that this mishap had now put the mission in jeopardy. Everything had been going so well. Why had this happened? Who were these people?

The strange aliens he'd 'met' so far, his captors, had not been from any species present in the gathering last night. In fact, he'd never met such… unusual looking creatures before. Short, spindly, androgynous bodies, frizzy dark-haired heads, and the most peculiar bulging eyes that seemed almost matched in their bizarreness by their large ungainly puffy mouths.

However, it wasn't the strangeness of their facial features or their body shape that had bothered Chakotay.

What had sent a shudder down his spine was the near-maniacal look in those snakelike eyes as they'd roved up and down his body, the way they'd tried to 'feel' him every time they'd come in to 'check' on him, the way they'd swarmed around him like vermin, clicking away in that maddeningly high pitched tone—revolting him, as he'd kicked them away in disgust.

He didn't want to think what they had intended for him. He really didn't. Damned if he was going to let them touch him again. Spirits, the mere thought of them on his body made him feel sick, squeamish, making the bile rise in his throat.

There was that sound again.

His head jerked up and Chakotay strained to focus his eyes at the door again. Yes, it was a scream, a sound of definite pain, coming from a distance. It sounded… familiar somehow. Dammit, who was it? Chakotay felt trepidation fill him. Who the hell was it? Were Tom and Tuvok here? God, he hated the thought of that. All his questions, all his demands to the aliens to tell him where his team members were had gone unanswered. Where the hell were they? Why wasn't anyone talking to him?

The wave hit him head-on this time. His fingers clawed into his throbbing temples and with a groan of misery he bent down, his head between his knees as he tried to draw in long, ragged breaths of air, feeling his head pound with raw, biting pain.

It took Chakotay longer to regain his composure this time, and then he had to simply force himself to get his wits together because he could hear sounds again. Different this time, the sounds were of dragging footsteps, slowly drawing near the cell door. He gritted his teeth, swallowed the bile rising in his throat and willed himself to face whoever was coming for him this time.

The door was thrown open and in the sudden harsh glare of lights he was blinded for a moment. He moved away from the opening, readying himself for an attack, when he saw someone thrown in the cell with him and heard the loud clank as the door was banged closed again.

It took his vision a second or two to settle, and then what he saw brought his breath up short.

It was Paris.

"TOM!"

The cry of dismay was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Chakotay felt a sense of distress slither into his soul, for the one thing he had been dreading all this time—his teammates being in danger—had in fact come true.

The pilot was resting on his haunches, his blond head bowed, and with his heart in his mouth, Chakotay approached the crouched figure slowly.

"Tom," he called out to the younger man softly this time.

There was no reply. Chakotay could see the lean shoulders rising and falling with Tom's rapid breaths. And then he thought of the noises that had woken him up and suddenly, Chakotay found it difficult to breathe. Those screams… he gulped, those painful screams had been Tom's?

"Tom," he raised his voice a little, putting his hand on one pale wrist, as he urged the other. "Look at me."

The tousled head, the blond locks dark with the sweat mingled in them, slowly rose and he was suddenly pierced by the most disbelieving blue stare. There was something in those eyes, something he couldn't quite put a word to yet, that unsettled Chakotay, totally throwing him off.

And then he saw the slashes on Tom's right arm and the blood streaked on his caftan and felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. They had hurt Tom.

"Spirits," he cried. "What… what the fuck did they DO to you?"

Chakotay thought he heard a snort in reply as the blond head shook in what appeared to be incredulity. "I can't _believe_ this," mumbled Tom as a strange sneer wrinkled those well-proportioned features.

But it must be the drugs screwing with his head again, thought Chakotay. He must be seeing… must be hearing things.

"Dammit, you're bleeding." Chakotay reached out to gather the pilot to him, trying to look at the wound properly, and was confused when he was pushed away.

"Yeah," the blond grunted. "No fucking joke, huh."

What the heck was Tom up to? Swallowing a strange wayward twinge of pain, Chakotay decided to focus on the fact that Tom was hurt worse than he himself was, and only Spirits knew what those bastards had done to him. It was only natural that the pilot was apprehensive about being touched by anyone yet.

Chakotay simply had to deal with Tom with the utmost care. He had to find out what the hell had happened.

"You're burning up, Tom." He softened his tone again. "Come on, let me see."

"Oh puhleez." Chakotay was shocked when he was again roughly pushed away. "Spare me the sensitive routine, Commander." The pilot's words were slurred, sluggish.

Chakotay suddenly realized what had happened. "You're drugged, Paris."

"Of course I am," Tom snapped at him. "I dunno what kinda shit they pumped inta me, while you, of course, got the stately treatment… as always."

That twinge had come back and Chakotay tried his utmost to bury it again. "Well, whatever drug they gave you has obviously affected your judgment." He tried to keep his voice down. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah, you'll always be the first to come to that conclusion, won't you?" There was unfathomable contempt in the blue eyes. "Tom Paris, the stupid fucking clueless one."

Chakotay found himself flabbergasted. What the hell was going on? Why was Tom being like this? What kind of drugs would do this to him? "Tom," he frowned. "What the hell are you—"

Paris interrupted him in the middle. "What was it that B'Elanna said to ya, Chak?"

What? Chakotay stared at the pilot. "B'Elanna?"

"Yeah." There was anger in the younger man's eyes. "Your cozy lil friend, B'Elanna. My supposed girlfriend. Who trusts you more than she'll ever trust me…"

Was that what it was about? Tom and B'Elanna's relationship problems? But then why was Tom taking it out on him?

"Tom…" he tried to speak.

"Was this the secret that you know about me?" The blue eyes bore into his accusingly.

"Secret?" Chakotay blinked. What the hell?

"Yeah. The Secret." Tom gritted his teeth. "You said it at the reception, remember? You know secrets about me which even I don't know about."

Spirits. The man was completely confused. The drugs had obviously screwed up his reasoning abilities. Whatever the hell had they given to him? "Dammit, Tom," Chakotay said. "You've got the whole thing completely out of context. I was not talking about anything B'Elanna said to me."

"But she said something to you about me, didn't she?" The blond was breathing hard, his face screwed up in pain. "Something that changed your opinion about me."

Oh no. Chakotay was _not_ going to discuss his talk with B'Elanna here. That was a private discussion between two friends. Yes, it involved Tom but whatever Tom wanted resolved with B'Elanna, he had to sort it out himself.

"Tom," Chakotay told himself to calm down as he tried to put some sense in the younger man's head, "I don't NEED anyone to say anything about you to form an opinion. I formed an opinion about you YEARS ago and it's still the same."

A sudden strange bleakness filled the blue eyes at this. "Still the same." Paris heaved a breath in. "Goddammit. Nothing I do ever livens it up, does it…"

Liven it up? "Paris," Chakotay sighed, feeling distressed at the pilot's strange mood. "You're out of your senses."

"…but you will of course listen to whatever the hell B'Elanna says." Tom was babbling, his face flushed, his breath ragged. "And I am supposed to feel better because her saying all the shit to you doesn't make your opinion any WORSE than it was before."

"Worse?" Oh Spirits, how wrong could this idiot have gotten it? Chakotay shook his head. "Stop ranting, Tom," he said forcefully, hoping to put an end to this conversation here.

"Why the hell didn't you stop her?"

Chakotay stared at Tom. "Stop who? B'Elanna?"

The blue gaze was drilling a hole into his forehead again. "The captain, dammit. And by the way why don't you EVER stop the captain from doing any fucking thing?" The pink lips curled up in contempt. "It would count if you stood UP to her every now and then, ya know."

For the first time Chakotay felt an urge to grab the pilot by his throat. "What the FUCK are you talking about?"

"Truth hurts, doesn't it, Commander?" Tom sneered. "Well, it does NOT help being the captain's lackey all the fucking time."

Chakotay felt his hands curl into fists. "Lackey?" he snapped, anger suddenly broiling inside him. He knew he should take a breath, probably let this senseless baiting go, but suddenly couldn't stop himself. "This coming from her 'pet reclamation project'?" he growled. "What the hell do YOU know about standing up to the captain? You've been her henchman since the day you came onboard the damn ship."

Tom jeered at him. "I DID stand up to her and she threw me in the brig, remember?" There was that bleakness again lurking in the blue eyes. "You of course agreed with her decision wholeheartedly."

Wrong, the sonofabitch had gotten everything so fucking wrong, Chakotay thought, his heart thundering in his chest. "You have no fucking idea what you're talking about."

But it didn't seem Tom was even listening to him anymore. "But since your OPINION about me has stayed the same all these years, why the hell should you care?"

"Is that what this is all about?" Chakotay stared at him. "You think I don't care about you?"

"Why are we even DOWN here?" Tom definitely wasn't listening to a word he was saying. "Why did we ever COME this way with this ravaged ship? Why the hell couldn't you stop the captain? Why don't you EVER stop her?"

"ME stop HER?" Chakotay knew he should shut up, he should stop his words now, but all of a sudden he couldn't help it, all of a sudden he didn't even care. "How can I stop her from doing whatever the hell she wants if I am in the fucking brig?"

This got the pilot's attention. "You're the First Officer." He stared at him.

"To a crew that BLINDLY follows its captain," Chakotay snarled. "What PURPOSE do I even fucking SERVE on the ship?"

This strangely shut Tom up for a moment. But all Chakotay could think of was the countless times he'd butted heads with Janeway over the years and gotten nowhere. She always got her way through, disregarded his suggestions—even if they were more effective, more practical, more sensible than anything she had planned. And all he could think of was that he'd gotten nowhere because no one else on the command hierarchy had the spine to stand up beside him and question her decisions.

But he didn't want to focus on that right now. He didn't. This was pointless. Tom Paris was obviously out of his mind. He had no idea what the hell he was ranting about.

Chakotay saw Tom's mouth work as if trying to say something. "Stop it." He growled at him in warning. "Just STOP IT, Tom."

He reached for his crewmate's injured arm and was again pushed away.

"Don't," Tom grunted.

"Let me look at your arm, Paris." Chakotay gritted his teeth. "You're hurt. You're drugged. If you were in your right mind you would NEVER talk to me like this."

"Well, that's certainly true," Tom snapped. "Been the freaking case since the Maquis when I first laid eyes on you." There was that pain in those eyes again, the pain that bothered Chakotay more than anything else—this stupid unreasonable pain, that matched the stab in his own heart for having been so completely misunderstood. "I always had to freaking keep myself in my SENSES, to avoid the wrath of the GREAT Chakotay of the Maquis cruiser Crazy—"

"Stop this," Chakotay snapped.

Tom glared at him. "Fuck you."

Chakotay gazed at the blond for a moment, his mind awhirl, his heart thundering, and suddenly the decision was made. He had to… just had to get to the bottom of this.

"Just what wrath are you talking about?" he asked Tom, his voice deliberately casual.

"This opinion," Tom scoffed. "The way you think about me. What your thoughts are about the mercenary Tom Paris…"

"Mercenary…" Chakotay shook his head in amazement.

"…who was CASHIERED out of Starfleet with the LOWEST of honors!"

Chakotay stared deep into the sweltering blue eyes. "Why the hell do you think I HIRED you in the Maquis, Paris?"

There was a flicker of distress in those eyes, yet the answer was the blunt, "Fuck you, Chak."

"No." Chakotay shook his head, his voice firm. "Answer me. Why do you think I really hired you? I need to know this."

Tom's drawn features hardened further. "Well, all right, how about this?" He looked up into Chakotay's eyes. "You were in a war. The Maquis needed pilots. You were desperate. I had the ability, the credentials, the…"

"We weren't _that_ desperate, Tom." Chakotay stopped him in the middle. "And your credentials weren't that significant either. It was a life and death situation for us and I was _not_ going to jeopardize our security, our _lives_ in sheer desperation and hire someone who didn't give a fuck about the cause. I needed honest people with a conscience, Paris, not fucking _mercenaries_ who would've betrayed us without a second's thought."

"So why did you hire _me_?" Tom's face screwed into contemptuous loathing. "Why? When you thought I was such a lowlife piece of scum, why did you give me the job, Chakotay?"

"Because I DIDN'T!" Chakotay roared. "I didn't think you were lowlife, Paris." He tried to lower his volume. "I didn't think you were scum. I thought you _had_ a conscience. For someone who'd thrown away his bright and shiny Starfleet career over the simple and _painful_ point of telling the truth, I thought you had _substance_."

There was stunned shock on those pale features, the blue eyes bright with sudden unbidden moisture, as Tom Paris stared at Chakotay in transcendent amazement. Perhaps that's how it was supposed to happen, Chakotay thought wearily; perhaps the realization of living with such a misunderstanding for so damn long really did that to people. But Chakotay wasn't through yet. He had to say it all.

"And then," he continued, his voice trembling. "I saw you on Voyager's Bridge and felt like the universe's BIGGEST FOOL. I felt as if I'd been wrong about you all those months ago, because there you were, standing free, consorting with those I'd vowed to fight."

For the first time he saw desperation in those eyes. A staggering grief mingled with belated realization as Tom bit his lips in consternation. "I… I couldn't fly anymore, Chak." The blond tried to explain, his voice hoarse. "They cut off my wings. I was suffocating. I needed to get out, to breathe; to see the stars again. Even if it was from inside a cage. I didn't betray you."

Chakotay looked into the blue eyes unflinchingly. "You switched sides."

"No, I didn't." Tom raised his voice, "I didn't tell them anything. Hell, there WAS nothing to tell. It wasn't as if you'd let me in on any of your Maquis secrets."

That same irrational misapprehension of not being trusted. Chakotay couldn't believe how completely it filled his heart with pain and hurt and anger.

"I told you as much as you needed to know." He clenched his jaw. "But tell me this..." Chakotay narrowed his eyes at the blond. "What _would_ you have done if I'd let you in on my plans?"

Tom looked at him, his throat convulsing. "I wouldn't have stabbed you in the back."

"And why should I believe that?" Chakotay asked.

The light eyes widened. "You believed it when you hired me." The blond brow furrowed. "You believed it when you gave me your hand and trusted me to get you out of that tunnel alive."

"And look what you did in response to THAT." Chakotay couldn't help but chew every word out. "Every chance you got, every time I put my faith in you, you threw it in my very face, didn't you?" His heart was heavy in his chest and he knew his voice was shaking but he could do nothing to bring it under control. "You take every interaction I've ever had with you and judge it with the misconception YOU have that I don't care for your well-being. Well, have you ever tried to look at it from MY point of view? Have you ever given a FUCK about how I felt when you undermined my authority, when you acted like a recalcitrant child and publicly disregarded my orders because you only knew how to blindly follow what the 'captain' said?"

He felt his throat tighten, the humiliating memories of the Jonas incident still fresh in his mind, as he struggled to finish what he'd started. "Hell, Paris," he stared at Tom in wonder. "You didn't even have the NERVE to come and ever clear the air with me. No wonder you think I've hated you all this time. You've been building this fucking smokescreen for the past seven years."

Through the shameless dampness in his own eyes that he impatiently tried to blink away, Chakotay saw Tom staring at him with despairing, agonizing compunction. The deep blue eyes, the drawn pale features, everything about Tom screamed remorse and hurt and desperation.

But Chakotay couldn't move, didn't dare move, so tight was his throat, so ragged his breath.

From the back of his mind, Chakotay thought he heard more sounds approaching but couldn't bring himself to give a damn. He saw the look in those blue eyes first change to panic as the cell door behind him was thrown open, and then to sheer distress as he was grabbed from behind. He felt cold hard fingers cruelly crush his biceps as he was roughly pulled from the floor.

"CHAKOTAY!"

He saw the anguish on Tom's face, heard the anguish in his voice, but he himself was numb, unable to move. He saw Tom reach out to him, those pale features tight, those hands outstretched as if to stop his captors from taking him out of the cell, but he was hauled out before those hands could touch him. He saw the door banged shut on Tom's tormented face.

"Chakotay…"

He heard Tom's muffled cry through the closed cell door and the only thing he could remember was the sheer desolation in those pale eyes, as he was dragged into the belly of the dungeon—this dungeon which their captors had chosen for their continual torment.

* * *

The shock of betrayal from those whom you had trusted with your life was always the toughest to endure.

As the Zokaa'rian Great Overseer to the Kel'nohr homeworld, Resh'lon of Du'kazinon IV—the largest mining settlement in Sector III of the home system—had always considered his duty to the Sovereignty the highest honor. His task was tremendous and the challenges unending. But since the rewards were clearly manifold, it had always been a pleasure to perform. His love for the Kel'zian people and their appreciation of his devotion had always made his work very fulfilling.

As a young progressive, Resh'lon had always believed in equality for all races and genders. All his peers in the Sovereignty, even within a system that was bound in centuries-old patriarchal traditions, permitted the infusion of these ideals because they recognized the need to grow and adapt to the changing times. In fact, he believed that the reason the Monarchy had survived all these centuries was because it had always allowed open deliberations on all levels.

Like any modern patriarchy, Zokaa'r too had evolved from a purely male-dominated system into one that had opened its perimeters to free, unobstructed, inter-gender ideals that held a limitless potential for the growth of all within.

However, while on one hand, his appointment as the Great Overseer to Kel'nohr had been a source of great joy to him, for the fair-minded people of this world had literally welcomed him with open arms, on the other it had also brought him a great deal of trepidation. For in the last many years, he'd encountered contentious issues at such a high level of the hierarchy that, as the lawful councilor to the Sovereignty, he was simply unable to accept.

In his utter frustration, Resh'lon had come to the realization that this beautiful breathtaking world, with its potent resource of a fast-paced cosmopolitan populace, was slave to an autocratic inflexible few who dissented to the merest notion of change. These coteries still adhered to the bygone conclusions of males dominating the law, holding females captive with virile stalwart preeminence.

Over the years, his interactions with the Kel'nohr royalty had left him feeling dissatisfied—time and again.

Therefore, it had been a most favorable diversion, for him personally as well as for the Sovereignty collectively, when the gallant crew of the alien ship Voyager, with its formidable female captain, had arrived in the domain. The tiny ship with its poignant tales of striving to reach a faraway homeland, fighting enemies day in and day out, had impressed Resh'lon immensely. Not to mention the tremendous respect the chosen ones, whom he'd conferred with via the commlink before meeting them in person, had seemed to have for their captain and her many accomplishments. Resh'lon had been very sorry that, bound by tradition, he'd not had the chance to meet with this graceful woman.

However, meeting the negotiating team that had come down to the surface, led by the ship's cultured First Officer—the gentle-hearted Chakotay—had eliminated all his disappointments.

It seemed that the _chosen ones _had indeed been chosen well. For all his progressive ideals, his faith in the age-old traditions that were the basis for the Sovereignty's existence had never wavered, and as always those traditions had worked their charm and chosen the most efficient and able of those who could represent the alien crew.

And thus, it was this fondness he'd felt for the aliens he'd met that now caused this turbulence in his heart, for he had surely failed them. Being the Great Overseer, he had been responsible for the negotiation's progress on the surface, and now that two of the aliens were missing—had in fact been abducted, creating this shameful predicament for him—he felt entirely reprehensible for the whole unfortunate occurrence.

In his initial discomfiture regarding this mishap, the first thing he'd thought of were those prejudiced divisions within the Kel'nohr government—the ones that continually opposed his ideals of gender and racial equality—to have been behind the offense. The dead Kel'zian involved in the _Observer's_ attempted abduction also indicated their involvement. For what else could have been the reason behind this incident, this wrongful snatching of these gentle aliens, who in the minds of those bigoted few had committed the ultimate aberration by serving under a female captain?

But then to hear of the involvement of his own people, true-blooded Zokaa'rians, under oath to serve the august Sovereignty with their utmost devotion, being traitors to their own Monarchy? Resh'lon had never felt more distressed or disconcerted in his entire life. And then this further peculiar murmur that hinted at the involvement of a third party. The rumor was that a new species, a people Resh'lon knew nothing about, was connected to this scandalous violation along with some unscrupulous Zokaa'r and Kel'nohr citizens.

Who were these people? Were they also behind the recent attacks on various settlements in the home system? Resh'lon had much questioning to do of his informants. They had to catch these individuals, find out who these new aliens were, and find the Voyager people in one piece.

And no matter how distasteful it was to him, no matter how disgraceful it made him feel, he was honor-bound to share all this information—to the last letter—with the _Observer_, Tuvok, that ingeniously perceptive Vulcan from the alien ship Voyager.

Resh'lon just hoped that the ignorant Kel'kar'vheel was treating the distinguished Voyager captain with the dignity she deserved.

* * *

Seven of Nine settled the empty tray back on the galley counter and giving Neelix a curt nod, walked out of the mess hall.

It was almost time for the Gamma crew to come for their late night meals and she wanted to get back to Astrometrics before anyone stopped her to engage in idle chatter. The latest data Ensign Kim had shared with her, as well as the somewhat ambiguous readings she had gotten from the space station and the planetary shield grid, was enough to occupy her late night shifts.

As Seven stepped into the turbolift and ordered her destination, she pondered the latest developments in the situation. She could see that while these most recent observations complemented the data the Zokaa'rians had previously shared with them, they didn't shed any new light. The shield grid and the exact role the radiation coming from the system's sun played on its frequency remained a mystery. The station's power control system, which regulated the radiation emission, was protected by a nearly impervious shielding which not even her Borg sensors could penetrate, and that made close scanning a near impossibility.

All these impediments had made any observations she could make on the shield grid inconclusive. Was the shield solely dependent on the generator on the surface or could it be taken down by disabling the control system on the station? She wasn't sure.

The fact that she was even thinking along these lines, when the behavior of none of the Zokaa'rians she'd met on Voyager had indicated the possibility of any danger for the away team, was perfectly in character for her. She felt it was inefficient to be unprepared for any eventuality, any complication. She knew that the away team was stuck down on the planet for at least three days and she wanted to be sure that when those three days were up the team would come back to Voyager safely.

As she stepped into Astrometrics, she thought of the other issue she'd discussed with Ensign Kim. He had spoken of the monthly datasteam from Starfleet Command that was expected to arrive within the next few days and the exchanges they'd had with the Zokaa'rian engineers about the technology they used to open the fold in space. Seven had ascertained that while this technology was similar to a Borg transwarp conduit, instead of opening an artificial rift in subspace as transwarp did, it used a naturally occurring subspace compression anomaly to travel long distances.

Where this anomaly existed and why they hadn't found any traces of it in any of their scans, Seven didn't know.

She frowned at the controls on the console in front of her. She was getting used to encountering frustrating obstacles ever since they'd entered Zokaa'rian space and it irritated her no end.

Take Captain Janeway for instance, Seven grimaced. The one person on the ship who had always been the most accessible to Seven, had suddenly become unwisely and almost recklessly elusive. Her commlink had been, for some ungraspable reason and without any kind of warning, encrypted with privacy protocols, which meant no one could comm her. Seven had thrown caution to the wind and gone to her Ready Room on three separate occasions with reports that needed to be reviewed by the captain, only to be turned back from the closed door by Janeway's cryptic instructions to not disturb her. What was even more incomprehensible was the fact that the fourth time she'd gone to the Ready Room, she'd found three security guards posted outside who'd turned Seven back without even letting her press the chime.

Seven found herself completely confounded by the captain's strange behavior.

She was aware that the captain had important meetings with Kel'nohr's Chieftain but nowhere in the Zokaa'rian First Contact Protocols was it written that the informal meeting that was to occur on the alien ship would have to be as clandestine as the one occurring on the surface. Moreover, these were issues that simply could not be ignored, Voyager's and the away team's safety was in question. There were facts and figures at hand that needed Janeway's critical point of view.

Why had the captain locked herself up in the Ready Room? Even the brief conversation she'd had with Mr. Neelix in the mess hall had confirmed her suspicions that Captain Janeway had in fact not stepped out of the confines of her Ready Room for the past thirty-five hours to speak to anyone on the ship. What could be the reason behind this most peculiar course of action?

Seven of Nine picked up a padd from the console, stared at it for a second and then dropped it back as she shifted her gaze to the Astrometrics viewer.

The datapadd held no answer to her quandary and neither did the viewscreen.

* * *

It was amazing how little effort it took to dupe a shallow, egotistical despot when one knew which strings to pull.

His Excellency, Chieftain of the Kel'nohr home world, Kel'kar'vheel the Eighth, sat in the Ready Room of Voyager's captain and lovingly spun yet another installment of the Tale of the Fallen Sister to the woman in question.

Representing Kel'nohr to the Sovereignty, Kel'kar'vheel had spent decades pulling such strings, and spinning such tales, when reporting to the System Kings. His inherent contempt for these unenlightened overlords had never once gotten in the way of his enormously creative wisdom. Like his erudite father before him, he too had learned how to manipulate his way up the bureaucratic ladder by ingeniously embrangling his superiors into a web of eulogistic tributes and obsequious compliments.

And thus was the case with this alien captain as well.

Handling Kathryn Janeway, he thought, was akin to handling one's composure when searching for secret treasure hidden under heaps of fetid refuse in a blind alley. There was but one way a dignified person could accomplish such a task: with one's nose pinched shut from the revolting stench.

Although, he had to admit, Janeway's repressed inclination towards degenerate sexual expression had found a companion in his own twisted mind. It had taken very little for him to wrap her around his little finger. A few well-structured fallacies. A sprinkling of over the top flattery meant to befuddle an egotistical mind. And he had at hand the entire means to completely intoxicate this woman's lack of imagination.

Besides, it was not as if everything he'd said to her had been false. The Tale of the Fallen Sister had certainly not been made up. There were elements of absolute and unalterable truth in it. He _had_ had a sister named Shai'lla. She in fact had been a most accomplished scientist. She had also been instrumental in creating subspace travel technology that had brought about a revolutionary change in the Sovereignty's scientific circles. And she indeed had been killed during a wartime skirmish in a faraway outpost on a planet in the Muka'o sector of the system.

What he hadn't mentioned was that it had been he himself, as the Sovereign of Kel'nohr, and the Maker of all Decisions in her life, who'd sent her to that post against her will. Shai'lla had never been an ambitious individual. She had, in fact, like most females, been a terrified weakling, awkward and clumsy in her decisions, completely wretched and hopeless. She had known nothing about politics and policy making and could focus only on the pursuit of what she claimed to be the scientific truth.

His sister had been a pathetic contender, a disgrace to the family name. Indeed, her only saving grace had been her indisputable beauty—a feminine comeliness he'd felt a most unnatural longing for and subsequently despaired the unavailability of.

Shai'lla's error had been the decision to approach the Academy of Sciences with her research without first obtaining his consent. Her abnormal and one-time bout of defiance against him had earned her a lifelong incarceration in Muka'o sector under the guise of significant scientific exploration. Her untimely death, a mere three months later, in that skirmish had brought on a system-wide mourning, with Kel'zians and Zokaa'rians alike joining hands to remember the beautiful scientist, Shai'lla of the Kel'kar'vheel Dynasty.

Her research work had of course not gone to waste. It had been rightfully submitted to the Academy of Sciences under the proper family name. The subspace travel technology had since then been successfully developed and experimented with and he had never forgotten Shai'lla's extraordinary contribution to it.

Of course, Kathryn Janeway didn't have to know all this.

In fact, Kel'kar'vheel didn't even think Janeway wanted to _hear_ the whole thing. She was someone who would listen to a lengthy dissertation and pick up only the parts that suited her frame of mind, which made her feel better about her own self-image.

Therefore, when he told her that the tyrannical Zokaa'rian regime perpetuated improvident religious practices on Kel'zian soil against his people's wishes, Janeway, being a godless woman who didn't agree with the concept of a religion herself, utterly believed him. And when he told her that Shai'lla had been a victim of a Zokaa'rian conspiracy for no one in the Academy of Sciences had wanted a woman getting such a technological distinction, Janeway, who herself had spent a lifetime thinking herself a victim of male predominance, was completely convinced.

Kel'kar'vheel indeed would have laughed at these circumstances had he not been aware of the solemnity of the overall situation. The activities on the surface, under the protection of the shield grid, had been progressing just as he had wished. The stage was being set for another illustration of the instability that had been taking root in the far reaches of the Zokaa'r Sovereignty.

His wish that every last Zokaa'rian would leave Kel'zian soil and let him rule his people the way he wished would come true sooner rather than later. And if it took the likes of Kathryn Janeway to help him complete this task, then so be it.

After all, His Excellency, Chieftain of the Kel'nohr home world, Kel'kar'vheel the Eighth, had perfected the art of pinching his nose shut in unsavory circumstances a long time ago.

* * *

**_**Night 3**_**

The burden of guilt was like an albatross around Tom's neck, wrenching his heart in pure agony.

The horrible solidity of the rocks and the piercing scratch in his throat, as he beat his hands and fists and palms against the unrelenting walls and screamed Chakotay's name over and over until his lungs were burning with exertion and his throat was stinging with pain, was as much to acknowledge his disbelief that they'd indeed dragged the older man away from right in front of his eyes, as it was to feel the punishing throb in his body.

Wrong, he'd been wrong, oh God, he'd been so fucking wrong, was the mantra that kept going round and round inside his head, in a crazy shameful loop.

In moments of debilitated weariness, when he found himself sliding down to the cold floor in shock, his breath heaving, his body limp, Tom replayed the argument over and over again in his head. And the words he'd said to Chakotay, the accusations he'd spat in his face, came back to haunt his thoughts, making him feel as if his very last breath had been ripped from his throat.

What the hell had possessed him to say all that unbelievable shit to Chakotay? Yes, those aliens were revolting and they'd made him sick to his stomach with their constant groping and touching, and hideous clawing fingers, but what the fuck had gone wrong with _him_? How could he have fucking believed a word those sickening creatures had said to him when they'd taunted him about Chakotay not being experimented on because he was the First One? How demented, how unbelievably insane could he have been to give even the slightest bit of credence to those lies?

And he had gone far beyond the aliens, hadn't he? All Chakotay had tried to do was help him and how had Tom responded? With raving spiteful slurs, spewing out all his pent-up frustration of things long unsaid.

No, Tom shook his head, it wasn't the drugs that had made him do it. He was not going to blame his own stupidity, his startling blunders on something as inane as alien drugs. It went deeper and farther than anything those aliens had done to him. It was something deep-rooted, inherent, hidden inside this low sense of self that he had, this unbearable burden he always carried jumping into defensive mode every time he faced anything or anyone extraordinary—anyone that stood out in his life.

Because from the first time he'd seen him, he'd known that Chakotay was one such person.

It had been during Tom's most vulnerable moments, in the midst of those bleak dismal times when he'd spent all his days and nights drifting in and out of every shabby watering hole on every backwater planet this side of the DMZ, that he'd come across the strong, proud Maquis. Chakotay was a man who had faced the worst adversities in life, had seen his family slaughtered and his dreams and hopes shattered by the political games played by his once trusted Federation. And yet he had the most unbelievable faith in his convictions, in the validity of his cause. With his integrity, with his grit and his quiet hushed disposition, he had completely, exhaustively bewildered Tom.

This was a man whose opinion would've meant the world to Tom, did in fact mean the world to Tom. And thus, from that point on, every word Chakotay spoke, every order he gave, every suggestion he made, was weighed, considered and judged by the little referee that resided inside Tom's convoluted mind.

The words, it was always the damned words.

Why had Tom always listened to the words and ignored the voice? Why had he only watched for the external while denying what those eyes were saying, what that face was conveying? Everything about Chakotay was about subtlety. Tom had freaking known that. The truest messages Chakotay had ever given were the non-verbal ones, the ones sent between the lines, hidden under the phrases. They were wrapped in those frowns and grimaces and soft playful smiles, they were insinuated in those rising and dipping and ever changing tones; they were yielded to him when those deep brown eyes had locked with his own. So why had Tom denied all that to his ever-suspicious heart? Why had this cynicism, this self-loathing, this feeling of never being good enough to be accepted by Chakotay taken over all his senses?

Why?

The wounded, agonized look on Chakotay's face, the shimmering hurt and disbelief in those beautiful eyes, the anger and agony and anguish in that shaking voice, the memory of it all sliced into Tom's soul now as he believed the cause of them must've ripped into Chakotay's then.

Trusted him, yes, Chakotay had trusted him from the first day he'd met him, he'd said so, and what had Tom done? He'd come down on Chakotay like a ton of bricks with his stupid, thoughtless, torturous diatribe. God, what had possessed him? Why the hell had he gone off like that? No, Tom could not, would not blame the aliens. It was more than that, far more. It had to be.

Thus, in the midst of this unending self-reproach, every time Tom rose from these bouts of shocked mute deliberations, he would throw himself against the walls again, beating at the unyielding door, screaming at his captives, screaming for Chakotay, screaming for any damned explanation. He'd demand to be taken where Chakotay was, demand to be told what was going on, demand to be faced by their shameful despicable pathetic abductors. And on and on this inner torment continued, with Tom switching between furious frenzied screaming fits and periods of wordless stunned silences and then more raving fuming crying attacks—feeling like he was losing all control, was in fact losing his mind.

After incalculable hours of raging madness, just when he thought there was no one there to answer him, Tom's demands were finally met and the cell door was thrown open. He was incensed to see, among those grotesque aliens, a tall, somewhat familiar looking, Kel'zian male.

"You make too much noise, Human," the Kel'zian sneered.

"Who the FUCK are you?" Tom yelled, enraged. "Why are we here? Where is Commander Chakotay?"

"Where indeed?" the Kel'zian smiled ominously. "Why, he's being… evaluated."

"Evaluated?" Tom stared, a feeling of dread descending on him. "For what?"

This time it was the Kel'zian's repugnant alien companion who replied in its irritating clicking voice. "For it's potential worth of course. On account of its…" those beady eyes bored into Tom's with glee, "…desirability."

Tom felt his heart stop. "Desirability? What the hell… are you talking about?"

"You are dense, Human," the Kel'zian scoffed. "If you must know, word of your ship's arrival reached the farthest corners of the Sovereignty and it wasn't long before the _chosen ones'_ potential worth was being ascertained by those even beyond our borders." He smiled. "It pleases me to confirm that the First One is indeed a high-priced specimen."

Specimen? "We're SLAVES?" Tom ground his teeth. "You're gonna sell us as SLAVES?"

"And get a very high price too," the Kel'zian replied. "Now we only wait to see how well the _First One_ can play the game. At the moment he is preoccupied with showing us his resistance towards his… eager captors…" A strange look of contempt crossed the Kel'zian's face as he looked down at the other alien, and then he looked back at Tom, "…and trying to win your freedom."

"What?" Tom felt his heart stop. "What the hell are you doing to him?"

"You ask too many questions, Human," the Kel'zian said. "Don't worry. Your superior will not be permanently damaged."

"A most unfortunate encumbrance, I must say," the short alien sneered, its serpentine eyes tracking the length of Tom's body. "And what's even more unfortunate is that the _pale one_ could've been an equally satisfying diversion for my horde." It clucked in disappointment. "However, we can't help but wait until the _dark one_ has exhausted all his strengths. After all we've given it our word."

"Yes, of course." The Kel'zian looked down at the other alien in disdain, his voice dripping with venom, "You're such unwavering adherents to your word, aren't you?"

"But of course."

In his stunned silence, Tom barely noticed his captors depart, as he was once again left behind in the cold cramped cell—the clamor inside his head paralyzing his limbs, making it hard for him to think straight.

Sex slaves? They were being sold off as sex slaves? The words spun around his head endlessly, his chest suddenly too tight. And Chakotay was trying to win _his_ freedom? But why? Tom couldn't fathom why Chakotay would do something like that. And what were these aliens doing to Chakotay? What were their plans? What… what was this… resistance they'd mentioned?

Moments later as he jolted awake from this trance, Tom was on his feet and at the door again—his fists once more beating at the unrelenting metal. As he screamed anew at his captors in outrage, the only thought looping through the reel of his convoluted, distressed mind was the safety and salvation of his commanding officer—his nemesis, his friend, his quiet proud Maquis.

* * *

As a Tactician, Tuvok was well versed in the code of discipline that various cultures adopted when dealing with traitors.

Historical references in his own people's ancient texts too had taught him one important lesson: treachery and deceit rarely instituted a positive outcome. Especially when used against one's own dominion, they frequently undermined the guiding principles of a people's way of life, and destroyed all faith in their system's workings, in a person's veridicality. When caught, such individuals were duly, and quite severely, penalized. This was the reason why one would seldom find Vulcans engaging in the impure emotions of greed, deception, or anger, or other vices that still plagued other societies.

In short, it was illogical to betray one's own people. Even for a high price, any profit or satisfaction gained from such an action would prove futile in the long run.

However, this was not Vulcan and these people were not followers of the Vulcan code of discipline. Still, Tuvok looked forward to observing how the Zokaa'rians would deal with this individual—the traitor—they'd caught this evening. From the tools he'd watched being assembled in the interrogation room before the Zokaa'rian had been brought in, it appeared it was not going to be a very pleasant experience for him.

Tuvok knew that the three-day time limit was soon to be up and he wondered how Captain Janeway would react when she found out about the problems her crew had faced during these three days.

* * *

For a split second he felt his grip on his mind slip, the alien presence tapping incessantly against the door in his head, and then with a hard mental shove that took nearly all his strength, all his will, Chakotay dislodged its hold and cast it aside.

This wrangling of the mental versus the physical was harder than anything he'd ever experienced, with his heart all but bursting with emotions he'd never felt the need to verbalize before. The pain whirled inside his mind, relentlessly stabbing into his heart. And there was something in those alien claws, some kind of venom, an intoxicant that made him dizzy and sick, did strange things to his body.

But damn, they were pathetic, and as long as he had his senses he was going to fight them off—he just had to, any way he could. The repercussions of not doing so were unthinkable.

Wrong, he'd been wrong… oh Spirits, he'd been so fucking wrong, was the mantra that kept going round inside his head, in an angry, adamant, and painful loop.

All these years on Voyager he'd deluded himself into believing that he and Tom had really put behind them all their differences. The murky details from years past were gone; all those unsure moments from their too brief time in the Maquis shrugged off. Or so Chakotay had thought.

He'd stupidly made himself believe that Tom had grown to trust him, to think of him as a friend. Hell, even if they'd never shared any deep and deliberate heart-to-hearts, he'd felt they had at least gone forward in a positive direction. He'd thought they'd bonded. On those many away missions where they'd had to rely on each other's strengths. During those late night cards and pool sessions at Sandrine's where his unassuming faculty had often delighted the challenger in Tom Paris.

Except it had been nothing more than a delusion. Tom did not trust him, did not have faith in him. It had all been one big blunder on Chakotay's part, a massive misconception of his own making. And he had no one to blame but himself. Just because he'd never held their past against Tom didn't mean Tom had forgotten everything as well.

But how could he have been so ignorant all this time? Chakotay felt stumped. He was supposed to be the perceptive one, wasn't he? How could he have missed all that frustrated anger the blond had harbored against him for so damn long? How could he have not known everything wasn't fine and dandy?

The painful memory of the words Tom had thrown at him spiraled inside Chakotay's head, piercing into his soul. Spirits, where had he gone wrong? What details had he neglected in attending to that had helped shroud all this hostility within Tom's soul, finally culminating in this heated anguished outburst?

Chakotay suddenly stiffened as he felt an alien hand slide up his back, the sharp pointed spikes of its claws scratching against his spine.

Before he could realize what was happening, a corded band was briskly wound around his right wrist and pulled hard, and with a grunt he felt his arm yanked tight behind his back. More hands joined in their foraging, trying to push him to the floor. Cursing wrathfully, he shoved his captors, propelling them away with two swift kicks, his free fist punching in quick hard thrusts. But Spirits, they were everywhere, surrounding him, not giving an inch as they tried to 'examine' him unceasingly, their cold hands constantly canvassing his body. He felt one snakelike pair of arms coil around his waist from behind.

"Get the fuck OFF me!"

With an enraged shout he jerked his body away from the assailants, his fury and loathing at the creatures ratcheting up as high as his spine-chilling dread.

And as always, the moment he got rid of one alien, two more encircled him from the other side, clicking at him menacingly.

"Your_ pale one_ has been asking for you constantly," one of them buzzed ominously.

The words seemed to slow Chakotay's heart in his chest. Oh no, they were not going to get their hands on Tom. Not after all that had happened, not after everything Tom had been through. He was NOT going to let Tom be hurt.

"You stay the HELL away from him," he growled, his eyes drilling into his offender's abhorrently. "As filthy and depraved as you all are, you gave me your word." He spat. "Your fucking WORD!"

"Ah," a fiendish snigger rumbled against his neck as he was suddenly pushed against the wall, and more claws joined in their exploration, "…but you seem to be at your wits' end."

"Oh, I can handle YOU," he snapped, bringing up his knee to viciously strike the one twisting against him, and watched as with a squawk it let go of his arms. He took the opportunity to pull his arm free but soon found more of them close around him. With a snarl, he charged at his assailants, hammering away at them violently with his knees and his fists, his blows raining on them without remorse.

But there was nowhere to go, no place to escape to, he realized with a surge of repugnance that was as much directed at the aliens as it was at himself. Chakotay bit his lips as he felt chilly skeletal fingers encircle his legs, felt the same sting puncture his flesh, as a burning sensation scorched his skin and sank into his nerves, felt himself stagger with a sudden unendurable enervation.

"But can you really?" A gleeful snicker rolled into his ear.

"STOP…" he heard himself groan, and hated himself for it, as a strange lethargy filled his senses. What the fuck were they doing to him? "Stop this…" he grunted.

"If you don't give us your body—" He felt them slink closer. "—there are liberties that we must take."

And as if that one sting had drained all his strength, he felt himself sink to the floor, his arms roughly pulled up over his head by hands savage in their pursuit. His mind in tumult, he shut his senses against the feel of those creeping bodies filing on top of him, shut his eyes against the sight of that tentacle coming out of the alien mouth as he felt its slimy surface slick past his neck. His jaws clenched, he struggled to free his hands from the alien's grip—but once again there came the same prickling in his mind, that execrable alien presence tapping against his consciousness.

"No…" he moaned, as the focus of his struggle shifted once more to preserving his mind, his sanity.

It was the same battle between the mental and the physical, the same anguish relentlessly stabbing his heart. And just one concept consuming his mind, exhausting his whole being: the preservation of his charge, the one who'd misunderstood him so much and for so long.

"You stay… the FUCK away… from Tom," Chakotay warned, his eyes scrunched shut, his snared hands balled into fists.

"Make us if you can…" they crooned in unison.

I will make you, all right, he thought. If it takes my last breath, I'll make you, he promised.

**Continued in Chap 4  
**


	5. Chapter 4

**Absolute Power, Chapter 4**

**THE FACE OF DECEPTION**

The all-consuming ritual of putting on her uniform had always held a powerful significance in Kathryn Janeway's life.

The way it covered her body piece by piece, the way it draped around her petite form, rubbed against her tactile self, becoming almost a second skin against her. The astonishing sense of esteem it bestowed upon her, its sacrosanct momentousness, the unprecedented awe of power it so succinctly sanctioned within her domain. Endlessly amazing, this all-important ceremonial integrality it branded into her soul. From the time she'd taken her initial step up the command ladder, Kathryn had been all too cognizant of the fact that no other dress code had ever made her feel as alive, as whole, and as sensual and erotic and feminine as the uniform had.

Her uniform was her identity. It was the shield that held her upright in a calamitous sea of swaying lilting emulators who would have walked all over her had she not worn her resplendent command persona as the dazzling badge of honor it was.

It was even more startling how it constantly affected the people she came across.

Towards her crew, her uniform had always been the bulwark that defined the ever-crucial parameters that necessitated the distance between them. Towards her peers, it had been the mark that recapitulated her superiority as a leader of undistorted importance and prestige. Towards leaders of their own dominions—as the Zokaa'r Sovereignty was—it emphasized her stature as the woman who'd beaten all odds and risen to this commanding position through her own merit.

This meeting of the kindred, these masters of their own specific jurisdictions: Kathryn Janeway versus Kel'kar'vheel the Eighth.

At least she could now say that speaking to Chakotay via the encrypted datalink had relieved whatever lingering doubts she might have had about Kel'kar'vheel.

While she'd certainly admired the extensive technological advancements the Zokaa'rians enjoyed, it was Kel'kar'vheel's covert ingenuity that had earned her truest appreciation. This ability to form a visual link—albeit a slightly fuzzy one—through a shield grid which even Seven's Borg sensors couldn't penetrate was most definitely worthy of Kathryn Janeway's respect.

Of course, she'd been aware the three-day time limit would be up soon and that the away team would be back onboard when that happened, so she had really been surprised when Kel'kar'vheel hinted at the possibility of a problem on the surface. Everything had been going so well, the Kel'zian and Zokaa'rian teams were busy working with the Voyager crew on the repair tasks, and the results were outstanding. So when Kel'kar'vheel told her that the surface situation was entirely different and that the Zokaa'rian representatives down there were actually doing everything to undermine the negotiations, her instinctive reaction had been to become suspicious. Of everyone.

And that included Kel'kar'vheel.

After all, who was this man, and what exactly did she know about him other than what he had told her himself?

Was this man, whom she'd found to be so fascinating and delightful, with whom she'd found an unbounded ecstasy unlike any she'd enjoyed in years, deceiving her for some reason? Did he too have an ulterior motive to take advantage of her like so many others she'd met in her past?

And as if he could read her mind, as if all her emotions and misgivings were plainly discernible on her face and in her eyes, he'd reached out to her and held her hand and asked her to trust him. He'd said that he'd anticipated her concerns and that he wanted her to know that he wasn't like the other men she'd met in her life. He'd told her about how his people had informed him about the Zokaa'rian designs and how he'd instructed them to move in anticipation and get the Voyager away team members at risk out of the dangerous situation and to a safe location.

As if to prove his truthfulness, it had been at this point that he'd taken the tiny amplifying encoder out of his pocket and hooked her up directly to Chakotay, who along with Tom was being held at that secret underground location—away from Zokaa'rian eyes.

Although confused about being separated from the other delegates on the surface, Chakotay had assured her that both he and Tom were fine and were in fact being treated very well by their Kel'zian hosts. In typical mulishness that was so in character for Chakotay, he'd persistently enquired of Kathryn the reasons behind this covert 'incarceration', as obviously no one down there had deemed it important enough to bring him in on the finer details, even though he did mention he had been attempting to strike up conversations with a few of the subspace scientists down there. To shut him up, she had to order him to leave everything to her, as she had everything under control—unlike him, she'd felt like adding, but decided not to rub it in.

Really, she was amazed at how dense the man could be sometimes. He watched things happening around him, not resisting, standing detached like some captivating piece of stage scenery, waiting for enlightenment to dawn on him from his spirits. He hadn't had the foresight to successfully retrieve from the Kel'zians the exact reasons why they'd removed Tom and himself to this location and he was asking _her_ for an explanation?

In any case, it was a moot point. Now that she was finally being given the rightful charge of the entire mission, she had other things to worry about. So with a mental sneer, she'd pushed Chakotay out of her mind.

She'd turned to Kel'kar'vheel and asked him why hadn't he taken down the shield grid if he knew about the situation on the surface? Surely he had the means to do so from the station.

He'd said that he didn't want the Zokaa'rians to know he was aware of their deceit. Kel'kar'vheel knew that at the moment the Zokaa'rian Authority on Kel'zian soil would be going through the motions of acting out their utter shock and disbelief at the Voyager team's 'abduction'. The truth was that the safety of Voyager's team had been in jeopardy from the moment they'd gone down and that Kel'kar'vheel's people had in fact saved them from the danger. Of course, the Zokaa'rians could never admit that they had never been sincere in their intent to trade with Voyager in the first place.

So why had they invited them, Kathryn had asked? If they had not wanted to trade with Voyager, if it had all been a waste of time, why had they been brought here?

Because _he_ had insisted, Kel'kar'vheel had replied. The most horrific thing was, and this was something he'd been afraid to tell her, was that when Voyager had been brought in through the fold in space, and they'd discovered that this was a ship captained by a woman, the Zokaa'rians had intended to destroy the ship. In their feeble minds, such an 'abnormality' was punishable the worst way conceivable. It had taken long meetings with the Zokaa'rian Council members before he had finally convinced them to give Voyager a chance. He'd assured them they didn't have to destroy a people just because they had things to hide. Of course, after these problems, he'd alerted his forces and ordered them to be ready for any eventuality.

But what was it that the Sovereignty wanted to hide, Kathryn had snapped. What was so important, so covert that they had in fact tried to destroy her ship, and then attempted to ruin the negotiations on Kel'nohr?

"Do you want to get home, my Kathryn?" Kel'kar'vheel had asked her then, his deep blue-violet eyes locked onto hers.

"What?" She'd stared at him.

He'd held her hand firmly. "The Sovereignty has technology that can get you home within weeks. It's the technology my sister developed and which of course the Sovereignty lays all claim to because they would never have given a female proper commendation."

"Technology that can get my crew home?" Kathryn had swallowed, the wheels in her mind turning.

"Yes, my precious." Kel'kar'vheel had kissed her nose then. "In truth, they have no right to deny anyone the use of this technology if I want them to use it. After all, as the Sovereign of the Kel'kar'vheel dynasty, and Shai'lla's next of kin, I am now the rightful owner of any claim on this technology."

"And?" Kathryn looked into his eyes, her heart thudding.

"And of course I want you to use it." He'd smiled. "I know how important getting home is to you."

"But if the Sovereignty doesn't want us to use it?" She had frowned.

"Patience, my sweet," Kel'kar'vheel had said. "Play the game I ask you to play, play with the debilitated Zokaa'rian mind. Let them think you've been outwitted. I assure you nothing will happen to your crew and your team will be returned to you safely."

He had fallen to his knees in front of her then, pulling her to him, his fingers reaching for the fasteners in her uniform again. "You trust me, don't you?"

Well, she trusted him to please her the way she liked at least, she'd smiled, as she straightened her stance and opened her legs to accommodate him.

This was her favorite position: standing straight, like a soldier, her body lovingly draped in her revered uniform, a woman in command. Her finely manicured fingers slowly wrapped themselves in his hair and with a powerful jerk she pulled his head back, guiding his mouth up into her heated core that had been exposed by the simple act of sliding the zipper down at the front of her uniform's seam. With a sultry deep-throated groan, she rode him relentlessly, sighing in abandon.

Ah yes, this proud and forceful act that showed that she had indeed appropriated the role of the dominator, this beautiful snatching of pleasure whenever she felt like, however she wanted, and with no thought whatsoever to the other's self-respect.

But then there were those who loved to serve their sacred ones this way. The ones who understood the alchemy of their final supplication, of her nod of assent. The ones she'd cherished and had waited for all her life.

Play with the Zokaa'rian mind, he'd said? Well that shouldn't be a problem. After all, playing mind games was one of Kathryn Janeway's specialties.

* * *

The Borg-enhanced Astrometrics sensors silently did their part in endeavoring to overcome their plummeting repute, as the sudden mysterious spike in the EM field generated by the shield grid was promptly recorded in the logs.

For one moment, Seven of Nine's attention caught on to the abnormality. Her brow furrowed in thought as her ocular implant conveyed the data on to her cybernetic systems and her brain worked furiously to figure out a reason for its occurrence.

And then her eyes strayed to the top section of the Astrometrics screen where the latest renovation reports were coming in from the Zokaa'rian teams, asking for her response, and her attention was diverted—that one moment of comprehension haplessly lost.

* * *

"You must stop at once!"

The Kel'zian's shout made Tom snort in derision. Fucking losers, he huffed. The sons-of-bitches were in some kind of trouble now, were they? Well, served them fucking right, he thought, feeling a twitch of perverse pleasure fill himself.

However, the fact that he was being held down by half a dozen creeping aliens, their viscid paws shifting around his wrestling form, as they clicked into his ears and clawed at his face, restricted him from enjoying that wayward twitch too much. And then there was that inexplicable choking wave of nausea as well, the one that rolled into his very senses every time that… tentacle came anywhere near him. Still, as he kicked and strove to get himself free, Tom wasn't sure whether he felt nauseated because he found the sight of it detestable or he felt nauseated because every time it touched his skin, he felt as if his skull was being crushed by an unbearable, inexplicable force. This force that seemed to choke him from within and without and around and from every corner of his...

"Our second-tiered horde has been obstructed!" His mental chatter ceased for a moment as he heard one of them buzz, "We must retrieve the information of the trapped one's location from this one."

Well, flicking over his skin with that wretched tentacle was not going to help their cause. But the fact that having their second-tiered horde obstructed was causing them so much grief, whatever the hell that actually meant, made Tom want to snigger in gleeful mischief. Fucking losers, he gritted his teeth.

"You can't do that. We're all in the same position here..." The Kel'zian was speaking to the aliens again, and they seemed to have stilled for some reason—as if responding to his unexpected objection was somehow impeding their efforts to strangle Tom's senses. "It still doesn't mean you can be allowed to attempt to retrieve that information from the _Guide's_ mind."

Is that what they were trying to do? Rummage through his brain? The assholes. No wonder it tanked his thoughts so entirely. It almost felt as if they were trying to suck his brain out.

"Yes we can," one of them droned. "Its mental acuity is nowhere near as compressed as the _dark one's_. We can probe it."

It? He wasn't an 'it'. They were talking about him as if he wasn't even a person.

And then it struck him.

Mental acuity? He stared at his captors. What were they doing to Chakotay?

"How many times do I have to tell you that they're not like you?" The Kel'zian seemed agitated, his attention not on him but on the other aliens, and this made Tom blink in surprise. Why would this bastard care what happened to him and Chakotay? He was behind this abduction, wasn't he? "They don't communicate in your ways."

"All living beings form stocks." The other aliens were once again talking in riddles. It annoyed Tom more and more that they always seemed to talk in groups, as if they had no individual thought, no individual will. One said a sentence and then another said a second, and then a third one continued the talk. Like one long unending chain of confusion, words falling over each other, tumbling between one alien after another after another. "Even if this one is as yet unmated, it had to have formed couplings with those among his crew. One of its crew is on the surface. We will probe this one to find the information the free one has."

What the hell were they talking about? Tom felt his brow furrow. Did they mean _him_? They thought he was unmated? But… but… that wasn't… true.

"No, you won't," the Kel'zian snapped. "You are DAMAGING these aliens. We were supposed to transfer them to the intended as whole beings. Not in PIECES, and certainly not with broken minds. You've already done too much with the _First One_."

Tom felt his heart stop at this. "What the hell have they done?" he asked the Kel'zian, his voice pitched high in consternation. "What's happening to Chakotay? TELL ME!"

At this, one of the aliens looked down at him, its goggle-eyes staring at him. "The _dark one _resists too much. Even though it is unmated, it still acts as if it wants to guard the secret of a bond."

Unmated? That word again. Tom frowned. Why did they keep repeating that one word? Were they even talking about the same thing? He had to be sure.

"What do you mean by unmated?" Tom asked, his heart thudding.

But this time he was ignored by all. He watched the Kel'zian shove one of the aliens, his countenance strangely distraught. "Whether he's mated with one of his crew or not, you are not to attempt anymore 'probing' of his mind."

Probing? "What's going on?" Tom demanded. "What the HELL are these bastards doing?"

"If it is unmated," the alien replied. "It is unimpeded from forming other hordes."

Damn. It couldn't possibly be what he was thinking, Tom swallowed. It couldn't be that simple, could it? Shit, he could barely hope.

"These creatures do not form hordes," the Kel'zian spat, his composure finally wavering as he stared down at the aliens in contempt. "I TOLD you that."

"What the fuck are these hordes?" Tom shouted, trying to get their attention. But they were caught in their own fracas.

"These creatures breed like all other beings," the alien snarled at the Kel'zian. "The _dark one _is not mated, and neither is the _pale one_. Therefore they are both free to be scoured."

Oh God. Is that what had happened? They'd been abducted and were being experimented on because these aliens thought they were unmated? That was the criteria for being chosen for… sexual slavery? But they were wrong. Tom was NOT unmated. He had… on Voyager, he had… Tom stopped in his mental rambling and pulled in a sharp breath.

What did he have on Voyager? B'Elanna—who hadn't spoken one word to him in weeks? What was there left between them? And if he even tried to convince these aliens of him being mated to someone on Voyager, where did that leave Chakotay? What would these aliens do to Chakotay if Tom saved his own skin?

Could he even think of something like this?

Tom felt his throat closing as he bit his lips. God, what had they done to Chakotay? What kind of abuse had they put him through?

"These aliens resist too much to your scouring." The Kel'zian was speaking again. "They will be irreversibly damaged if you make any more attempts."

Irreversibly damaged? Well, that made the decision for Tom.

They were not going to touch Chakotay anymore.

"You're both WRONG," he shouted at them.

"Why didn't you gag this one?" The Kel'zian looked at him in disdain. "He's too loud to be of any use while we're having this…"

"CHAKOTAY IS NOT UNMATED!" Tom yelled at them.

This stunned them into silence for a second. He watched them staring at him in surprise and all he could hear was the sound of his own heart thundering inside his chest.

"What?" The Kel'zian's eyes bored into his.

Tom gritted his teeth. "And neither am _I_."

The Kel'zian glared at him. "What are you talking about?"

Tom took a deep breath, his heart skipping, and plowed onward. "Chakotay and I, we're mated… to each other."

All of them started speaking at one.

"It lies…" the alien growled in umbrage.

"That is impossible," the Kel'zian looked at him in indignation. "There were no official records of your bonding in your ship's database when we—"

Tom interrupted them in the middle. "We do not keep official records of whom we mate with," he said calmly.

"That is incorrect. Marital records are a part of—"

"I DIDN'T SAY we were MARRIED." Tom cut the Kel'zian off again. "I said we were mated… to each other."

The Kel'zian stared at him incredulously. "You form sexual bonds without the chronicling of an official recognition?"

Tom looked into his eyes. "That is how… most intimate bonds begin in our species, even the ones that lead to an… official recognition."

"It is making it up." The alien sniffed. "It just wants to…"

"I am telling you the fucking TRUTH." Tom raised his voice, exasperated. "Chakotay and I are mated. We're bonded together. That is the privacy, the secret he is fighting to preserve. You can't touch him."

"But these aliens have already been negotiated for." The Kel'zian's eyes were on Tom but the words were obviously intended for the other aliens.

The alien whirred. "The Xaoln pandect would never permit the negotiating of bonded mates."

Xaoln?

Tom watched the Kel'zian's face harden. "He's lying."

Oh no, he could not allow any doubts to form in these bastards' minds. Now that he'd planted the seed of this… untruth, Tom was going to make damn sure he'd see it through and bring it to culmination. He stared hard at his captors. "You said you've encountered… a hindrance… in your attempts to… probe him." Probe him? God, what had they been doing to Chakotay? "That hindrance exists because he would never break the bond he has with me."

"He is your superior." It was one of the other aliens. Xaoln?

"In rank," he replied.

"If you do not keep official records," the alien asked. "Then how can you prove your serfdom to your higher mate?"

Damn, they had the strangest notions about intimate bonds. "Between mates, we do not have… serfdoms. We are equals. And I can prove it to you if you take me to him."

Yes, he would prove it to them. It would be the highest hurdle he'd ever jumped in his life. After the way Tom had treated him, the burning coals of suffering he'd made Chakotay walk over, facing him and trying to convince him of this… plan… would be the most difficult obstacle he could face. But it was an obstacle of his own making and he had to overcome it. Somehow, some way, he had to prove it. He had to make it right. He had no other choice.

He had to save Chakotay.

"If this is true…"

"If this is true," the Kel'zian interrupted the alien, "then you must cease all attempts to probe or overwhelm these aliens."

The alien's puffy mouth twisted in venom. "And if this creature is lying—" The snakelike eyes looked at Tom malevolently. "—If it is not mated to the _dark one_, then both of them will have hell to pay."

Tom glared at his captors, his heart galloping in frenzy. No choice, he had no choice.

Somehow, some way, he had to prove himself to Chakotay.

* * *

When B'Elanna Torres had gone out to lob those two torpedoes at the station's power regulator, she'd not expected to be thrown in the brig.

"What were you _thinking_, B'Elanna?" Harry stared at her from across the forcefield, his face screwed into a mask of absolute disbelief.

Except that was the problem, wasn't it? She hadn't thought. Why should she? B'Elanna Torres wasn't the sort of person who wasted time in moral deliberations and logical discussions when she was short on time and the safety of those she was loyal to was in question.

She knew the shield grid should've come down in three days. It hadn't. She'd figured the away team was in some kind of danger. When she got no positive response from her… superiors, she'd decided to take matters into her own hands. End of story.

But if she had to actually explain all that to Harry Kim, who was supposed to be one of her dearest friends on the ship, then what good was that so-called friendship?

She stared at him in incredulity. "What?" she growled. "You _agree_ with the captain?" She couldn't believe how anyone sane could agree with what the captain had done. And while she was at it, she decided to remind Harry of his last comment on the subject. "The three days are OVER, Harry! Tom and Chakotay, and Tuvok are supposed to be back onboard…"

"B'Elanna—" Harry tried to interject.

However, she wasn't about to let him do that. "…but they're NOT and the captain is shacked up in her Ready Room with that creepy Kel'zian asshole…"

He tried again, "B'Elanna—"

And was bulldozed once more. "She didn't even listen to a word I was saying, Harry." B'Elanna's breath was hitching, her face hot with fury. "Do you know I went to her Ready Room _five_ times before she even admitted me, and then when she _did_ let me in and I told her about the situation, you know what she said to me?" B'Elanna was pacing the length of the brig, her face flushed in anger. "She said she had everything under CONTROL. That I had nothing to worry about regarding the away team…"

"B'Elanna—" Harry ground his teeth.

"…can you fucking _believe_ that?" B'Elanna threw up her hands in indignation. "Everything under control. Hah! If that isn't the biggest joke I've heard in years," B'Elanna huffed. "The captain has no _clue_ what's going on with her own ship. I can't believe she asked me to disregard my concern about my crewmates. We have no idea what's going on down there and the captain is fucking oblivious—"

"MAQUIS!" Harry yelled.

That stopped her. She glared at him. "WHAT?"

"Tell me this," he stared at her, trying to keep his breathing under control, "what have you accomplished here? You launched two torpedoes," he shook his head, "…TWO… fucking torpedoes at the power grid of the station Voyager is currently docked into. Did you stop to consider that it could possibly have destroyed Voyager?"

"Don't be an imbecile, Starfleet," B'Elanna snorted. "I disabled the detonating mechanism on both those torpedoes myself. They were nothing but empty casings. And don't act like you didn't know that," she huffed. "Besides, that power grid is so fucking powerful, nothing we have in our arsenal could ever affect it."

Harry stared at her in bafflement. "So why the hell did you fire those torpedoes?"

"I…" Feeling slightly peeved, B'Elanna shrugged. "I was trying to… make a statement."

Harry couldn't help but slap his palm against his forehead. "Some statement you made. You're in the brig, B'Elanna, and the captain is damned pissed off. How does that help our situation?"

She felt anger boil inside her again. "Don't mention how pissed off the captain is, Harry. She has no idea how pissed off _I_ am!"

Harry sighed. "B'Elanna…"

"Goddammit!" Grunting, she swiveled on her feet and stalked up to the wall, balled her hands into fists and struck them against the wall hard, once, twice. Then she stood against the wall, her shoulders hunched, her breath heaving, her head lowered in misery. Her back to Harry, she sighed, her voice low. "I messed it up, didn't I, Starfleet?"

"Well, we'll find out," he replied softly.

She turned around and faced him, her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He looked at her gravely. "The Zokaa'rian System Control Monitors are here, B'Elanna."

She felt her heartbeat quicken. "What are they gonna do? Are they upset at the, uh, torpedo thing?"

"I said we'll find out." Harry looked into her eyes. "For one, I think they will at least take down the shield grid now."

* * *

Had they taken Tom out of that wretched cell?

Chakotay felt his body caught in a flux of paradoxical opposites. The alien toxins in his body dulled his motor functions, slurred his thinking processes, blurred his perceptions, and yet at the core of his being he felt peculiarly, shamefully stimulated. His heart hammered a staccato beat inside his chest and he could feel the pollutants intoxicating his senses, tingling along his nerves, winding him up in an appalling mesh of carnal, sordid responses.

But he was not going to give in to their loathsome designs. He was not going to let them touch him that way. He was going to fight till his fucking last breath.

But had they taken Tom out of that wretched cell?

Spirits, he hoped they had. He hoped Tom was safe by now.

* * *

Neelix stared at the closed doors of the Astrometrics lab, stared at the two Zokaa'rian guards posted outside, and felt his brows furrow in dismay.

The planetary grid had finally come down but to the consternation of Voyager's Morale Officer, things had become even more complicated than before.

It was preposterous how the Voyager crew was being treated, he thought. It was they who had been harmed, they who had suffered at the hands of alien terrorists. Commander Chakotay and Tom Paris were still missing since the attack on the away team, Commander Tuvok himself was witness to the whole debacle. Even the planetary authorities had confirmed the frightful intensity of the transgression the Voyager contingent had suffered.

Yet, it seemed to make no difference whatsoever to the System Monitors. Ever since the grid had come down, ever since Tuvok had returned to the ship, Voyager had been invaded by Zokaa'rian security personnel posted at every corridor, treating the crew like prisoners on their own ship.

Neelix was bewildered to say the least.

Yes, B'Elanna Torres has acted a bit hastily but it was only out of deep concern for her fellow crewmates. And now that the shield grid had come down, all her fears had in fact come true. Why then weren't the Zokaa'rians listening to Commander Tuvok? And what about the Zokaa'rian Overseer who had been so willing to come forward and fight Voyager's case with the Zokaa'rian Council, why wasn't anyone paying attention to him?

Neelix hoped Captain Janeway's remarkable leading capabilities and her influence with the Kel'zian Chieftain—with whom she seemed to have formed quite a… rapport—would help get Voyager out of this unfortunate situation.

Moreover, in all this commotion, it appeared everyone had forgotten about the monthly datastream that Seven and Harry Kim had downloaded during their technological exchange with the Zokaa'rian engineers. Neelix had really been looking forward to taking every crewmember's individual messages to them personally. After the difficult time the crew had faced recently, he knew they had been eager to receive news from home.

This was the reason why he had come down to see Seven. She had informed him earlier that he could take the first batch of messages to the crew this afternoon. But now it appeared he couldn't even talk to her. The System Control Monitors had ordered all 'key Voyager personnel' to be detained until further notice, and they weren't to be contacted by any of their shipmates without authorization.

It looked like the Voyager crew wasn't going to have access to that datastream anytime soon.

With a resigned sigh, as Neelix turned and walked back to the turbolift, he wondered if the crew—in the face of these more pressing problems—even cared about it.

* * *

His Excellency, Chieftain of the Kel'nohr homeworld, Kel'kar'vheel the Eighth, felt like he was at his wits' end.

Even under normal circumstances, it would've been hard to hold out for long against such impudently opprobrious behavior. It was harder still because he couldn't allow his disdain to show in front of Janeway. He had to keep up the masquerade, keep the supportive mask on, keep feeding her the half-truths and outright lies she so pathetically needed to hear in order to assure herself that she indeed had things under control.

Control. What a joke; Kel'kar'vheel thought he'd laugh in her pinched little face.

Kathryn Janeway had no idea what it meant to exert control over anyone. Her entire crew was a pack of wayward, contumacious lunatics. That ill-bred Klingon female, for instance, who had visited Janeway in his very presence, had gone off and attacked the planetary grid like some rabid animal simply because Janeway had turned her request down. And Kel'kar'vheel didn't believe one word about the warheads being inactive. It was a contemptuous act of outright hostility against a sovereign power, and if he had been her leader, he would've punished her with nothing short of death.

But all that Janeway had done was thrown her in the flimsy imprisonment facilities onboard Voyager. Such nefarious leniency from one who so arrogantly gloated about the power she exerted over her crew was farcical.

It was something else, he reflected, that the Klingon female's actions had only helped his own cause. Her intemperate conduct had so outraged the Zokaa'rian System Control Monitors, who were a subsidiary committee serving under the System Kings, that they—on his quiet persuasion of course—had sent one small contingent of their own disciplinary guards to Voyager to keep everyone under control. With the tension building over this unruly crew, and the barbarous blunders they had the tendency to revert to under pressure, it could only be a matter time before they would do something far worse than throwing ineffectual torpedo shells at the planetary grid.

However, while it was true that Janeway—who in her single-minded quest to obtain the technology he'd mentioned to get her crew home, and be decorated as the greatest captain in the history of Starfleet that she believed herself to be—had accepted everything he had fed her, the same could not be said for the Vulcan, Tuvok.

Shrewd, calculating, and overcautious. These were the words that swam in his head as Kel'kar'vheel sat back in his chair and observed Voyager's Chief of Security give his report to Janeway. He realized this was someone who was suspicious of everything at the moment. After the unfortunate mishap in which the Vulcan was able to avert his abduction, it appeared he'd gotten intensely involved with the Zokaa'rian investigation efforts and seemed to be getting along quite well with their officials.

"Just look at the numbers, Tuvok," Janeway was urging him. "These readings are indisputable. The Chieftain has provided us with sensor logs straight from the station's power control system and it draws a remarkably clear picture."

Tuvok raised one dark brow. "Am I to assume that from these readings, you've deduced that the precise moment the shield grid came down, Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Paris were transported to one of the ships docked at the station and taken away from the planet?"

Kel'kar'vheel felt an urge to smirk at the words chosen. Janeway had deduced no such thing. He'd simply led her to believe that he wanted the Zokaa'rians looking for her Voyager crewmates elsewhere, rather than wreaking havoc on his homeworld, in order to prove their duplicity. He just wanted a seed of doubt planted in the Zokaa'rian mind and like everything else, Janeway had seemed to like the idea.

"That does seem to be the case, don't you think?" Janeway stared into her subordinate's eyes, her voice cool, her chin tilted up in that arrogant stance which Kel'kar'vheel found so annoying.

"That remains to be seen," Tuvok responded, as he cast what appeared to be an openly suspicious glance in Kel'kar'vheel's direction. "There are many issues which I need to look at before I can come to any favorable conclusion."

This rather brazen behavior suddenly rankled Kel'kar'vheel. Who the hell did this alien think he was? He may have been back on his own ship but he was still in Kel'zian territory, and still bound to the Kel'zian customs that confined him and his entire crew to honor the Royal House at all costs. What did he think he was doing showing his discourtesy to the Kel'zian Chieftain?

He looked at the dark alien. "I am sure the Zokaa'rian arrested on the surface would've lead you to some favorable clues."

Tuvok turned to him, his neck tilted up as arrogantly as his female captain's. "As did the autopsied remains of the Kel'zian male who was killed during the initial attack on the surface."

Kel'kar'vheel recognized the challenge in those words. The Vulcan wanted him to remember that he knew there were more than just Zokaa'rians involved. He stopped himself from physically blistering in reply. "You mean the Kel'zian _you_ killed."

"Indeed," Tuvok replied. "I was forced to employ extreme measures in self defense. However, the Zokaa'rian officials on the surface shared all the investigation details with me. It is fortunate they work with complete impartiality, with no regard to personal or political motivations."

Another rib. "Are you suggesting the Kel'zian citizens work against the Sovereignty's interests?"

"On the contrary. I am confident of their greatest loyalty to the Sovereignty." Tuvok stared at him. "I am merely bringing all the facts together. Great Overseer Resh'lon has much influence with and great respect for the Kel'zian people. He has assured me of their utmost cooperation in the recovery of my two shipmates."

Resh'lon of Du'kazinon IV—Kel'kar'vheel felt his jaws clench—that insolent, self-righteous, condescending charlatan who acted like a Kel'zian sympathizer. The truth of the matter was he was nothing but a double-crossing faithless revisionist who didn't know where to draw the line as far as long-held traditions were concerned. He also loved meddling in affairs that were none of his concern. Kel'kar'vheel couldn't stand him.

However, it appeared his indoctrination had worked well on Janeway. She was quick to intervene. "Tuvok, I don't want you to mingle with anyone on the surface right now." She looked at her Security chief earnestly, her steel gray eyes serious. "I have no idea who was involved in Chakotay and Tom's abduction. Right now every single person who was present in the negotiation process is a suspect in my eyes."

Tuvok frowned. "I assure you, Captain, they are all suspects in my eyes too. But I must not abandon my collaboration with the investigating team on the surface."

"But if Chakotay and Tom are not even on the surface," Janeway's voice hardened and her nostrils flared, "what good would those efforts do?"

"As I already noted, I am not yet certain that Chakotay and Tom are not on the planet," Tuvok said. And once again those eyes turned to him, a suspicious glint in their dark depths. "I need to keep my link with the authorities on the surface open in order to succeed in my inquiries."

Kel'kar'vheel noted that a permanent frown had formed between Janeway brows. As always, she found it hard to believe someone had the gall to disagree with her approach.

"Tuvok," she growled, "you're not getting my point."

A voice over the commlink interrupted the discussion. "Kim to Tuvok."

Tuvok gazed at both of them serenely as he answered the hail. "Tuvok here."

"Commander, we're getting a transmission from the surface. It's for you."

The Vulcan was as adamant as that wild Klingon as he responded. "Ensign, please route it to the Ready Room." Kel'kar'vheel felt like snorting.

"Acknowledged."

He watched Tuvok audaciously ask Janeway's permission to use her console to receive the hail, which she gave with a deadly glare. Of course, it made no difference whatsoever to the Vulcan. He swung the console his way so that all three of them could watch the transmission.

Kel'kar'vheel felt his mouth turn bitter as the face of Resh'lon appeared on the screen. The Zokaa'rian too seemed put off when he saw Kel'kar'vheel in the background, which made the Kel'zian feel slightly better.

The good mood didn't last for long though.

"Great Overseer." Tuvok addressed the Zokaa'rian.

"_Observer_," Resh'lon nodded. "A significant development has been made in our search. Your presence is required on the surface."

Kel'kar'vheel bit the insides of his cheeks as he felt a wave of consternation descend on him. What had Resh'lon done now?

"Can you tell me what has transpired?" Tuvok probed.

"A member of a third species involved… the one I spoke to you about… has been caught." Resh'lon's words unsettled Kel'kar'vheel, and for a moment he thought he saw the Zokaa'rian's eyes shift his way before the other man continued. "Your expertise will be required in interrogating him."

Tuvok nodded. "Very well. I will transport down to the surface at once."

"Thank you, Commander."

"Tuvok out."

With that, the Vulcan turned to Janeway and Kel'kar'vheel saw that she was glowering at him.

"Tuvok," she began warningly.

But of course, her illusion of control was just that: an illusion.

"Captain," Tuvok interrupted her. "We can discuss these issues another time. Right now, my priority is to find Commander Chakotay and Ensign Paris, and for that I need to go and cooperate with the Zokaa'rian officials on Kel'nohr. Diplomacy demands no less."

Her mouth turned down, Janeway had obviously run out of schemes for the moment. With a stiff nod, she submitted. "Of course."

Tuvok nodded at her, nodded at him—his eyes as distrustful as before—and quietly walked out of the office.

"Well, that can't be too bad, can it?" Janeway had her left brow raised and she wore that sneaky half-smile, which she thought made her look endearing. "Perhaps Tuvok's presence will keep them on their feet after all."

Such a contorted way of endorsing your weakness at controlling those who serve you, he thought.

As Kel'kar'vheel smiled at Kathryn Janeway and launched into another of his effervescent affirmations of her great crew and her ability to handle them so effectively, he hoped the contempt he felt for her didn't show on his face.

Yes, he certainly did feel like he was at his wits' end.

Now he had to resort to backup measures.

**Continued in Chap 5  
**


	6. Chapter 5

**Absolute Power, Chapter 5**

**CLIMAX**_**  
**_

_****Night 4****_

Emotions were illogical.

Tuvok knew that.

As someone who considered yielding to any emotion impure and a hindrance to the truth, Tuvok had gone through a strict and continuous mind conditioning all his life. This process was, in effect, the intellectual deconstruction of emotional patterns, and was the means through which Vulcans found the mental control to conform to the strict ideals of their society. To detach themselves emotionally from any situation they were involved in.

Still, as he stood in the Kel'zian prisoner holding cell, and looked at the captured alien, he couldn't help but feel a wave of revulsion pass through him.

The peculiar alien was restrained by shackles that bound its arms and legs. It was also muzzled. Its appearance was unusual indeed, the large orbed eyes its most peculiar and unpleasant facial feature. However, a superficial conclusion on the basis of extraneous validation like outside appearances was not Tuvok's objective.

"It's no species that I know of, but the captured traitor referred to it as a Xaoln," Jess'phan said. "It is neither a member of the Zokaa'rian Sovereignty nor anyone the Alliance members have ever heard of."

Tuvok turned to the Zokaa'rian. "Why is it gagged?"

"For our own security, Commander." The Zokaa'rian turned to him, his brow furrowed in discontent. "This creature possesses a prehensile outgrowth within its mouth, which it uses to inject its victims with an enzyme. It also has retractable claws that can insert a toxic compound. It has already attacked several members of the security staff."

That explained why this creature was being treated this way. But, Tuvok had other ideas.

"I will require its gag to be removed in order to communicate with it," he said.

Jess'phan's face twisted in horror. "I would fervently advise against it, Commander. This creature is very dangerous."

"Your concerns are noted," Tuvok replied calmly. "However, you asked me to assist you in your investigation. I expect to do so in my own manner. Please remove the restraint from its mouth."

The frown was fixed on Jess'phan's face and for a moment Tuvok wondered if he would face the same obstinacy here that he had in Voyager's Ready Room.

The situation on Voyager had put him in a type of quandary he'd never before faced in his long career. Indeed, the forced confinement of all key Voyager personnel to their quarters and workstations within the ship was troubling. Tuvok had discussed the repercussions of it with Great Overseer Resh'lon, and the latter had assured Tuvok of his cooperation in getting Voyager out of that predicament.

It was what Resh'lon had not said which made Tuvok suspicious. When he had asked him about Chieftain Kel'kar'vheel's influence with the System Kings, Resh'lon had circumvented the question with such tactful subtlety that Tuvok had to wonder at the relationship between the Zokaa'rian and Kel'kar'vheel.

Nevertheless, his recent meeting with Captain Janeway and His Excellency the Chieftain had given him some clues about why Resh'lon didn't want to talk about the Kel'zian. It was quite obvious they shared a complicated affiliation and that Kel'kar'vheel harbored intense disfavor towards Resh'lon's ideals.

Now he looked at Minister Jess'phan, and wondered what kind of objections he would face from his Zokaa'rian host.

But to his surprise, Jess'phan sighed and tilted his head. "Very well. You can try. But may I make a suggestion before you do so?"

Tuvok felt himself relax incrementally. "You may," he replied.

The young Zokaa'rian led him into an inner chamber, and Tuvok realized he did not want the captive to hear their conversation.

"Commander," Jess'phan turned to him, "you mentioned you are a touch-telepath and can use your abilities to communicate with others."

Tuvok frowned. "You misunderstood me. What I meant was that Vulcans can communicate with members of their own species by creating a mental bond with their mates."

Jess'phan shook his head. "But I have done some reading on the data we downloaded from Voyager's database and there have been many references to Vulcans forming links with members of other species as well. I believe it is called a 'mind meld'."

Tuvok saw where this was going and knew he had to be cautious. "While traditionally a genuine mind meld is only formed between Vulcans, it is true that cases exist where interspecies links have been formed for the purpose of extracting information from individuals."

"Then you CAN form a link with this creature to extract information about the First One and the Guide," Jess'phan said excitedly.

"According to my scans, this alien has a starkly different physiology from any others I've ever encountered," Tuvok said. "It may or may not be possible to form a link."

The Zokaa'rian said. "I understand this creature has an unusual physiology. It also doesn't seem to have any specific gender. But I don't see how its different physiology would prevent you from forming a link with its mind."

"As I said, it may or may not," Tuvok said. "However, I should inform you that it would be highly immoral of me to forcibly form a link with this individual. It is a sentient creature and as a captive, not in the condition to agree or disagree with such a proposition."

Jess'phan frowned. "It is immoral of these creatures to be involved in the abduction of your shipmates as well." He looked into Tuvok's eyes. "These are terrorists, Commander, and your shipmates have been missing for more than fifty-six planet hours. Wouldn't it be logical to use your abilities to help them now?"

Tuvok stared at the Zokaa'rian and recognized the ring of truth.

If this alien knew where Chakotay and Tom Paris were, linking with it could resolve the issue that had been raised in Voyager's Ready Room as well. The captain's mysterious behavior notwithstanding—which was in fact making his earlier disquiet about her behavior seem much more than just irrational doubts—finding Chakotay and Tom on the planet would prove his misgivings about Kel'kar'vheel right. He had noticed the intensity with which the Kel'zian Chieftain had listened to his conversation with the captain and he was afraid it was his influence that had colored the captain's perspective.

Tuvok had not expected the captain to be so blinded by an outsider's views that she'd allow the confinement of her own crew by Zokaa'rian guards but that was something he would ponder in due time. He hoped Great Overseer Resh'lon would succeed in pulling the right strings in short order. He had more urgent matters to attend to at the moment.

He turned to Jess'phan. "The enormity of our current obstacles would deem the use of a mind meld logical in this case. Still, I shall proceed with an attempt at verbal communication first."

Jess'phan nodded and called two guards inside the cell. Tuvok watched as one kept a weapon pointed at the alien while the other removed the muzzle from the alien's mouth.

At once, the alien started hissing at them, its voice shrill and loud, its mien overwrought.

"You've obstructed our horde-wide interchange." The alien's bulbous oral cavity opened and an elongated outgrowth extruded from it, lashing at thin air. "You will be castigated for your discourtesy."

Tuvok stared at the bizarre creature, swallowing his revulsion in favor of some quick logical questioning.

"Where are the captured members of our team?" he asked.

The large eyes gleamed in an odd showing of glee. "It is inducted in our supplementary hordes. We are pleased with its induction."

"Induction?" Tuvok frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The second laments for the first," the alien buzzed. "The first laments for the second."

Tuvok realized the alien was speaking in riddles. "Explain what you are talking about."

"The walls in the first are more condensed than the second but the first laments for the second…"

Walls? Tuvok felt himself go still. "What walls do you mean?"

"…the second laments for the first."

"Who is the first?" Tuvok asked, although he was beginning to get an idea of what the alien was trying to convey.

Commander Chakotay and Tom Paris were in trouble.

"Such pathetic creatures," the alien crooned. "Such miserable defenses; flimsy walls of contact." It cackled. "Such weakness towards those bound within their hordes."

"It speaks in riddles. It appears disoriented and agitated by its circumstances, which is understandable." Tuvok frowned.

Yes, Tom and Chakotay were in trouble. And they needed help now.

"But we don't have time to wait for it to come out of its bewilderment or to offer it sympathy for its circumstances." Jess'phan's face was tight with concern and for as many times in the last few days, Tuvok was struck with the awareness that among these groups of strangers, there were those who were genuinely on the side of the truth. "We have to try something more direct than verbal communication."

"Yes, we do." Tuvok nodded, his eyes locking with the Zokaa'rian's. "Time has run out. I must proceed now."

* * *

Tom yanked his arm out of the alien's grip as his entourage deposited him in front of a sealed cell door.

"Don't TOUCH me!" The snarl simmered in his throat, his nostrils flared.

His escorts whirred around him. "Keep this in your mind, _Pale one_. If you're lying…"

"Go fuck yourselves!" Tom snapped. "He's MINE."

Yes, if he said it to himself enough times, if he thought it enough times, maybe he'd convince himself as well. Tom swallowed. And if he was convinced of this crazy plan, then reasoning with Chakotay would be a piece of cake, right?

Right.

If only his heart would stop galloping inside him like a wild horse heading for the hills. But, God, he had to control his heartbeat; had to control the tremors that made his hands tremble and his legs shake. He had to control _himself_. He was on a mission and the mission meant saving the life of the man he'd wronged so inexcusably, the man who'd always meant more to him than Tom had ever even admitted to himself.

The man who had probably already suffered far more than he should have.

This was a one-only chance. This was do it or lose it all territory. And Tom couldn't allow himself to lose. He could not even bring himself to think about failure. He had to convince Chakotay. He had to save Chakotay. He had to make Chakotay trust him.

Somehow. Some way, he had to do it.

Yes, he was ready. He took a deep breath and exhaled audibly. Ready to face it all. Whatever happened, he'd make Chakotay listen to him, would give Chakotay a reason to trust him.

_And the kicker of it would be_, he bit his lips, _this time around I won't let you regret it._

The aliens threw open the door to the cell where Chakotay was being held and Tom took a step forward.

For a moment, he squinted into the sudden glaring brightness that assaulted his eyes. Why were the lights so damn bright? And what was that strange whispering hissing noise? It got on his nerves as bad as…

Tom stopped.

God, it almost sounded like…

His eyes widened at the sight of the swaying undulating sea of bodies crammed in the room, their movements swelling and rising and converging around one focus, one median, one nucleus.

That was when he saw Chakotay.

And forgot to breathe.

* * *

His plunge into the Xaoln's mind was like sinking into a piercing, biting, frigid alien realm.

It had also come quite unexpectedly.

It was as if suddenly a window had been thrown open, a gust of burning air blowing in Tuvok's face, scorching his eyelids—and he'd fallen into the crack, plummeting down into the abyss that was the alien mind.

The resistance was fiercer than he had anticipated. But then he hadn't expected to encounter mental walls in this nondescript species in the first place, let alone face a telepathic metaconsciousness. It was as if the moment he felt that prehensile appendage touch his skin, there was a stab in his own mind, and a window had opened—showing him a way in. He found himself drifting inside the dark and dingy corridors of the alien's intellect, facing opposition that he hadn't anticipated but which was in fact penetrable with some effort.

Undoubtedly, it was a telepathic species. Yet, its psychic powers were more proportional to that of a lower organism—baser than he would have encountered in more advanced races. The adaptive energy surrounding its aura, filling in the dark perfidious corridors, was malevolent in nature, but reluctantly acquiescent when confronted with his superior mental conditioning. He rummaged through the entropy of this alien's mind—his thoughts focused on his two shipmates, his mind calling out to them.

_Where are Chakotay and Tom Paris_, he asked, pushing through the Xaoln's consciousness, his demeanor authoritative.

_The walls are more condensed in the first one_, the consciousness sniggered back at him, _but it's almost exhausted_.

_Take me to the first one_, Tuvok instructed, that feeling of anticipation filling him again.

And with that, as if a higher level was reached in their shared link, Tuvok felt another presence in the alien's mind. He felt himself go alert, his mind's eye trying to catch what it was and realized that there was another Xaoln linking to this one's mind. And then another. And another. A long string of contacts within the same alien awareness, these consciousnesses touched each other's perceptions, linked together in an extended metagroup.

A _horde_.

He slowly realized it was a type of mating bond between a group of Xaolns that clasped them together in a telepathic linkage. A base, animalistic connection, erected between a species in pursuit of its carnal wants.

But what connection could that mating bond possibly have with Commander Chakotay and Tom Paris?

The moment the question crossed his mind, Tuvok felt another aperture open in a corner and an eerie, cold blue light fell into his path. This strange amalgam of cold light and heated surroundings was consternating to say the least but he moved into the dark opening anyway.

And stopped in his tracks.

For the… vision was disturbing on more levels than one.

He had no other word for it. It had to be a vision, a figment of the alien's imagination, so uncanny and abnormal it was in its eccentricity.

The inexplicable piercing cold colors, their sight unlike anything he'd ever seen on any world in his long lifetime. The caustic dense air, painfully suffocating and thick to breathe in. And the hostile burning red walls looming around him, the color of Human blood.

Even the… floor of the chamber he found himself in somehow seemed alive—eerily moving, shifting, buckling under his feet. And when he looked closely, he saw that it indeed was alive.

The chamber was filled with what appeared to be hundreds of Xaolns, their stringy hermaphroditic bodies in motion, their claw-like limbs retracting and extending endlessly in an ominous dance of destruction. Their eyes menacing, their faces contorted with rage, Tuvok felt a chill run down his spine as their terrifying tentacles darted out to engage with their intended victim.

Yet it wasn't the treacherous surroundings, wasn't the blazing walls, wasn't the uncountable Xaolns filling the suffocating chamber, that brought him to his feet. It was the sight of the one he had been searching for, his lost shipmate, standing before his eyes, struggling in the midst of all that chaos.

Amidst the shadowy corrals of the Xaoln den, stood the disheveled and enraged figure of Commander Chakotay. Looking angry and distressed in the unforgiving alien environment, Voyager's First Officer pushed and strove against his captors as they attempted to pin him down. His clothes—the Zokaa'rian diplomatic attire they had all been dressed in—were tattered in places, his skin marred with grisly wounds streaked with what could only have been blood.

"Chakotay," Tuvok called out, his voice loud in his own ears as he felt his heart restart its beat with a hollow thud inside his chest.

But the commander was unaware of his presence. And all of a sudden it occurred to Tuvok that this… vision he was seeing was through someone else's eyes. It was an event a Xaoln was witnessing—a Xaoln who happened to be a bondmate of the one Tuvok was linking with.

Tuvok had no way of communicating with Chakotay, no way of doing anything except watch the scene unfold—this scene which was mysteriously, inexplicably reminiscent of something to him.

With rising distress, Tuvok watched the aliens attempt to push Chakotay to the wall, their hands grabbing and gripping his arms, repeatedly pulling them towards the shackles on the wall behind him. He watched the commander—his movements jerky and disoriented for some reason—struggle against them, his face tight, his voice rife with agitation. He watched the pointed Xaoln claws sink into the flesh of Chakotay's arms, making him cry out in pain, and Tuvok felt his heart lurch in alarm, even as the commander lashed out at the malicious aliens. His strong fists freed from the aliens' grasp, Chakotay hit back at his tormentors, his knees constantly jabbing out in offensive strikes.

The commander was outnumbered, alone, faced with brutally uneven odds. And yet, even as Tuvok watched the scene play out before him, he felt a sense of irrational hope filling him. Illogical as it was, he knew there was more to this situation than met the eye.

And indeed, relief was short in coming as Tuvok's attention was suddenly, although not unexpectedly, diverted by a distraught shout sounding through the cold grimy chamber. His eyes flew to the burning blood-red walls, as he saw his second lost teammate enter the Xaoln's vision.

Ensign Tom Paris, his demeanor agitated, was fighting with a group of aliens, wading through the overcrowded room. His face contorted with fury, the younger man appeared to be shouting at the aliens, wildly gesturing for them to stay away from the commander, his stance rigid and infuriated. Tuvok watched as seeing no response from the aliens to his entry, Tom let out an incensed shout and jumped at the aliens, his hands balled in fists, his legs striking out at the captors.

The commander, however, did not seem to agree with the ensign's strategy, as Tuvok noticed the sudden dismay on his face at the pilot's arrival.

But Tom Paris wasn't listening to the commander. Or perhaps he did not wish to be distracted by his superior's disquiet. Tuvok watched as the younger man lunged at the aliens that surrounded his superior, striking them, shouting in anger, forcing them to acknowledge his presence, as he attempted to save his crewmate. The look on the commander's face changed to one of desperation as he turned to the aliens that moved towards his subordinate, his hands reaching out to grip the alien closest to him, his anger palpable in his expression, as he took a step to the left to…

Suddenly Tuvok's link with the Xaoln in the chamber was broken.

His mind reeling, Tuvok's vision suddenly blacked out, plunging him into darkness. Why had the link severed? He felt his brow lift in query, as he struggled to regain the link. Where had that Xaoln bondmate gone? What was happening to Chakotay and Tom Paris? How would the scene unfold? A hundred questions filled his mind.

Would Tom Paris be able to hold off the aliens long enough for the rescue teams to arrive?

Tuvok allowed himself a moment to stop the mental clatter. He took a deep breath and chanted a calming Vulcan mantra to get his bearings back. Reasserting the control that had been lost for a few moments, Tuvok once again tightened his link with his Xaoln captive.

He had to get to his shipmates. He had to find their location.

Before it was too late.

* * *

Tom felt frantic beyond all imagination.

Chakotay's disappointment at seeing him cleaved into his soul. He knew he'd hurt the big man, if that huge fight they'd had the last time they were together was anything to go by, but dammit he wanted to make it all better. That's what he was here for. He had to convince Chakotay, had to make him believe.

Walking through the slithering, shifting swarm, pulling any and all aliens he could grab away from Chakotay, Tom took a step towards him but swung around in fury when felt a claw touch his shoulder blade.

"What the FUCK did I tell you?" he snapped at the aliens, his breath shuddering in his chest. "Your time is UP! Now get OUT of here."

The creatures looked up at him in revulsion, their prurient stares roving up his length, and despite the shudder he felt at their scrutiny, he forced himself to disregard it. These aliens were a non-issue. Their claws, their tentacles meant nothing. He had more important things to focus on. He had the means to make things happen now.

He turned to face Chakotay.

"No!" Chakotay shook his head. "Dammit, no, Tom." Tom noticed the older man's pupils were contracted almost to pinpricks, undoubtedly the cause of whatever toxins were running through his veins. Yet, his face was still stamped with apprehension, the dark brows creased. "You were supposed to be GONE. They told me they'd let you go."

Tom thought he'd laugh at Chakotay's words.

"Shit, Chak," he snorted. "What did you think these sick bastards are? Zokaa'rian diplomats?"

Chakotay shook his head. "They gave me their WORD that they wouldn't touch you."

"And they didn't." Tom tried to calm his voice, to make it steady. "I am not here to be experimented on, Chak."

That seemed to make an impact.

Chakotay frowned. "They didn't bring you here?"

Tom stared into the dark eyes. "I _asked_ to be brought here!"

Chakotay's face screwed in sudden anger. "Are you out of your mind? What the hell is the matter with you? What are you doing here? You were supposed to _go_, Tom. That's what they said they'd do."

"At what cost?" Tom glared at him. "By selling your soul to them, by giving up your sanity, surrendering your… body?"

"No," Chakotay growled. "Never. I can FIGHT them. I have been fighting them."

Tom wanted to cry.

Didn't Chakotay know how messed up he was? He was splattered with his own blood from his neck down to his toes. He was exhausted, his face flushed with exertion, his breath unsteady. They had hurt him; God, they'd _damaged_ him despite the admonition that son-of-a-bitch Kel'zian had given to the fucking sickos. Of course they hadn't listened to _him_—he had no influence with them. They had wanted to _conquer_ Chakotay and he'd been resisting them. In their attempts to befuddle his mind, they had physically hurt him. But it seemed Chakotay was so far gone in his head he wasn't even aware of the pain he'd suffered.

"Dammit, Chak." He took another step forward. "Listen to me."

"Tom," Chakotay's brow was wrinkled, as he shook his head, his mind stuck in the same reel. "You were supposed to GET THE HELL OUT of here." He gnashed his teeth. "Why do you always have to do the exact opposite of what you're supposed to?"

He shook his head. "Chakotay…"

"No matter what I say," Chakotay looked exasperated, "you always have to go against it. Why won't you—"

"LISTEN TO ME!" Tom yelled, cutting him off in the middle. "I am _not_ leaving you here."

Chakotay huffed. "You have no choice, Paris. We're prisoners here. We have to play by their rules."

Tom took another step closer. "I make my own rules, Commander." Now he could almost smell the older man, and it was a strange mix: heady, musky, full of pain and anger. As he took a deep breath in, Tom felt lightheaded.

Chakotay snapped. "We have no _choice_, Ensign."

"I've already made my choice." Tom stepped right into his face, his heart beating giddily in his chest. "I'm gonna save you."

"Save me." Chakotay barked out a laugh and Tom felt warm breath tickle his face. "You've lost your mind. What are you going to do?" The dark eyes were shimmering and Tom was surprised at how fascinating he suddenly found them. "Yank me out of here just like that?"

Well no, not really. But since it didn't appear Chakotay had any clue what was going on, it was time he showed him. It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, Tom lifted his hands and wrapped them around Chakotay's wide shoulders, willing them not to shake so much. The dusky skin was soft and oh so warm, he realized as he felt something dark and hot and crazy shift at his core.

"Look—" Ignoring his inner confusion for the moment, he raised his voice so that it carried through to the aliens. "I know you're mad at me, _baby_," he said, emphasizing the never-used-before nickname, "but I promise I'll make it up to you."

Chakotay blinked at him. "What the—"

Tom rubbed the shoulders soothingly, letting one hand drop to skim against Chakotay's left biceps, squeezing the muscular arm. "Please, Chak," he lowered his voice, "look at me."

"Tom!" Chakotay's voice seemed stifled. "What the hell are you…"

Oh no, this could not be allowed to go on any longer. His heart in his mouth, Tom stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Chakotay's body. At once, he felt the older man stiffen, so he deliberately relaxed his stance, wrapping his fingers around Chakotay's wrists.

"Please," he implored, looking into Chakotay's suddenly apprehensive brown eyes, feeling dizzy with the older man's scent. "Shh," he said, rubbing Chakotay's back. "Please, Chak, listen to me."

"Tom…"

"There is one choice." Tom lifted one hand and rested that palm against Chakotay's jaw. "But you have to trust me."

The dark brows crinkled, Chakotay looked at him questioningly, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Please, look at me." Tom let his thumb softly caress Chakotay's bottom lip. "Listen to me. Trust me, Chak."

Realization dawned in the dark eyes in the form of unbridled horror. "Oh God, no…"

"Shh." Tom ignored the stab he felt when he saw the disdain in the dark eyes, instead he ran the fingers of one hand through Chakotay's soft dark hair. "Please Chak…"

"No…" Chakotay jerked his head back, his face aghast. "No way…" he tried to step back.

Tom held Chakotay's biceps in a death grip, preventing him from moving away. "Look at me…" he kept his voice low, calm. "Please."

"No." Chakotay gritted his teeth, his nostrils flared. "I can't. I can't do this, Tom. You… you can't do this."

"Chakotay…"

Chakotay's face was flushed as he retreated into protective mode. "You were supposed to get OUT of here."

Tom sighed.

"They promised they'd let you go…"

"I _told_ you, I am not leaving you here like this." Tom looked into his eyes. "Not if I can help it."

"But there's no need for that." Chakotay staggered in a breath. "They said if I could… keep them off, if I could handle them on my own…"

Tom gripped the wide shoulders. "And you've held them off, you've handled them, on your own," he said each word clearly, wanting to get through Chakotay's confusion. "For long enough…"

"We can't." Chakotay again tried to pull back. "No, Tom, we can't do this…"

"…but there are too many of them…" Tom again held his grip firm, keeping him in place. "And believe me, there are MORE out there…" he raised his voice. "More than you see in here, Chak. More than you can imagine."

Chakotay suddenly snapped, "You DON'T understand." His eyes were burning.

Tom bit his lips. He knew this was hard on Chakotay. But it wasn't any easier on him either. "Yes, I do." He chewed each word. "I understand you better than you _know_, Chak." Please believe me, Chakotay, he prayed. "Better than I ever did."

"For gods' sake, Tom…"

"You're _not_ giving up control," he growled.

That stopped the babbling for a moment as startled, Chakotay looked into Tom's eyes—his own wide with wonder.

Tom took a deep breath and started again. "You fought them off longer than I could've," he said calmly. "You fought them longer than anyone I know could've." He looked into the dark eyes. "But there are too many of them. You know that. And this is the only… language…" he winced, "…they understand."

Chakotay suddenly yanked out of his grip. "There has to be another way." He took several steps backward until he was flush with one of the walls. "There has to be…"

"There IS no other way!" Tom was beginning to feel exasperated. "Don't you think I've explored all other options while they've been clawing and tearing at you? God, Chakotay, I can't stand you getting hurt anymore." He pleaded as he reached out to him. "Please, trust me; there is no other way…"

"Tom…"

Tom felt the aliens closing in again and jerked around. "Stay away!" he spat. "This is between me and… my _mate_."

And then without waiting for their reaction, for he knew they would only go away when Chakotay got on the same wavelength with him, he turned around to face the older man again.

"Look at me." He stepped closer to him. "Look into my eyes, Chakotay. I am not lying to you." Despite Chakotay's move to stay out of his reach, he grabbed hold of those shoulders again. "I am not going to hurt you. Ever again. Just look at me." He looked into the dark eyes, saw them blink, and emphasized each word. "You're _not_ yielding to me." He saw the darker face flush an even deeper red and rubbed the shoulders again. "I know the difference, Chak, believe me. I don't want you to hurt anymore.

He sighed. "Just think of this as… placing your… trust… in my hands again, that's all." He knew that wasn't all. It was much bigger than that but then being trusted by Chakotay had never been a small thing to him. He had to get Chakotay to understand, had to make him believe. "Just like in the Maquis, on that first and last mission I ran for you."

Chakotay's laugh was bitter. "And look where it got you."

Tom shut his eyes for a moment, breathing hard, his brow creased as he attempted to swallow the wave of pain that descended over him at the words. Yes, he knew he deserved it all. This was payback for all the shit he'd ever given Chakotay. But dammit, it hurt. It still hurt. He opened his eyes again and stared at Chakotay. "I've gotten better at riding the rapids now, Chief."

For a moment, he thought Chakotay's eyes lost that hard glint. As if he'd seen something in Tom's eyes, something that had stirred an emotion in him. "Tom…" His voice sounded strangled.

"It's okay." Tom hated the pain even more than the sarcasm. "It's all right. I am not gonna let you get hurt."

Again the same vehement denial. "It's impossible, Tom… we can't just…"

Oh, but they could. They _had_ to. Didn't Chakotay know that?

Shutting out the view of Chakotay's disapproving eyes, Tom stepped forward, put his arms around Chakotay's waist, lowered his mouth and pressed it to Chakotay's warm lips.

The lips were soft and lush and a tremor ran through them, in fact ran through the whole body, as he felt the older man's shocked gasp swish down his throat. He felt Chakotay struggle in his grip but he pressed on regardless, letting his tongue come into play, as he pulled the older man closer, feeling the heat of Chakotay's body sink into his senses. God, but he felt good, Tom felt himself sigh as he shut his eyes tightly, and Chakotay tasted so fucking fabulous, he thought, as he lapped at the sweet heat of Chakotay's mouth, deepening the kiss, falling into it with abandon.

He just had to ignore Chakotay's denial. Yes, that was the way to do it, Tom decided, as he felt a groan start in Chakotay's throat. He could just keep on kissing Chakotay like this, yes, he sighed, taking mouthful after mouthful of this irresistible sweetness; he could just drink from him for long ceaseless beautiful moments. Hell, this wasn't punishment, he thought, as he felt his own body coiling with the need to possess. He cradled the older man's face in his palms, his mouth slanted against Chakotay's, and kissed him harder. God, this was rapture, this was pure fucking bliss.

But Chakotay was still struggling, still in denial, a shudder running through his strong frame, and Tom felt Chakotay's desperate fingers clutching his shirttails as the older man tried to pull Tom off. Oh no, he couldn't allow that. They had to convince those damned aliens that they were mated, and for that Chakotay had to play along, he just had to no matter what.

Having decided that, Tom grabbed Chakotay's wrists and, ignoring the older man's frenzied frantic movements, pushed him against the wall—trapping the wider struggling body with his own.

And froze where he stood.

Chakotay was hard. Harder than duranium. Harder than anything Tom had ever felt. Stunned, ignoring the way his _own_ body had reacted at the contact, Tom loosened his hold on Chakotay's mouth, lifted his lips and stared at Chakotay's face.

"Chak…"

The face was flushed and as the beautiful dark eyes opened, Tom saw the pupils were dilated now, almost black with arousal, undoubtedly the result of his unbridled onslaught, but the eyes… the eyes were filled with incomprehensible, unaccountable shame. "No," Chakotay said, his teeth gritted, his eyes glittering, his breath short. "Not like this, Tom." He bit his lips.

Comprehension washed over Tom like a ton of bricks crashing over his head, and he wished a chasm would open in the floor and swallow him whole. Goddammit. Chakotay had been hard, aroused beyond all doubt. How could he have missed that? Chakotay had _not_ been in denial. He had been stepping away from him _not_ because he didn't trust him, but because he'd been burning with this _fever_, had been dizzy and feeling out of control with whatever the aliens had pumped into him, all this fucking time.

With a start, he stared at the man he held against the unrelenting wall. Tom's gaze fell to the wrists he held captured in his own hands and he saw the cuts and gouges along the arms from which blood still seeped. He saw the strong neck, the broad shoulders and chest from which only strips of the Zokaa'rian attire still hung and the scratches and bruises that marred the beautiful smooth skin. And suddenly Tom felt his breath catch in his throat. What the hell had he been thinking? After all that those aliens had done to Chakotay, he was trying to force himself on him?

He searched the glazed brown eyes for some sign of forgiveness and found only shame, mortification at their own weakness.

"God, Chief." Tom gulped. "It's not your fault."

Chakotay scrunched his eyes shut as if he couldn't even bear to let Tom see his eyes. "I hate this." He was shaking. "I can't take this anymore, I can't…"

"Shh." Tom touched the warm skin of his cheek, let his other hand card through the sweaty dark hair. "It's okay. It's just me."

"No, Tom…" Chakotay moaned. "Not like this, not with all this shit running through me…"

"Hey," Tom felt his insides twist in sympathy as he grasped Chakotay's left hand in his own, his touch gentle, as he carefully traced the high cheekbones with the index finger of his other hand. "It's going to be all right. I'm here."

The brown eyes opened again and Tom was pulled into the swirl of emotions filling their simmering depths. A hint of chagrin, grief and disappointment was stacked on one side, while an indication of forced lust churned in one lone corner—somehow counteracted by the evidence of anger and loathing that lurked in the midst of it all.

Yes, it could be anger and loathing directed at _him_, Tom thought. After all, if he considered the opinion he'd held regarding Chakotay's feelings about him until two days ago, that _would_ be the most logical course of reasoning he'd take. The Chakotay he'd known all these years couldn't bear to touch or be touched by Tom because he couldn't stand him. It was contempt for Tom that he was seeing in those eyes.

But then the Chakotay he thought he'd known was also the Chakotay that he'd completely misunderstood. Wasn't it time he took stock of his real feelings about the man? Wasn't this the reason why he was here in the first place? Couldn't the pain, the disappointment, the anger that raged in those eyes be there because Chakotay—as a proud and private man—was hurt and humiliated by the blatant mental and physical plundering he'd been subjected to in this disgusting filthy place?

For the first time since meeting Chakotay, Tom made the decision to take the older man's words to him as something other than derision, made the decision to respond to the message those deep desperate eyes were giving him. Keeping his eyes locked to their darker counterparts, he lifted Chakotay's hand, brought it to his lips and softly, gingerly, placed a kiss on the knuckles.

Before the older man could react, Tom cupped the side of his face with one palm. "I'm sorry if I spooked you," he said, looking straight into Chakotay's eyes, "but please know I'm here to help you. I am asking you to trust me, Chakotay." He sighed. "Please let me make it up to you."

Chakotay's eyes were glittering. "You don't owe me anything, Tom."

Tom smiled, as he blotted out the wave of sadness that tried to envelop him at those words and pulled Chakotay closer to him. "I beg to differ."

And then Tom was kissing him again, devouring whatever protest that emerged from Chakotay's lips—for those lips were covered firmly by Tom's lips, that body locked against the wall with Tom's body, that face tilted up to receive Tom's determined open-mouthed kisses.

He could again feel a moan start at the back of Chakotay's throat as he worked at those sensual soft lips, dipping his tongue into Chakotay's mouth, thoroughly tasting him, letting the older man's hot heady scent sink into his senses. He felt his heart skip a beat as this time his kiss was returned, fervently and sensuously, and he moaned when Chakotay's hands clutched at his back, pulled him closer to the hard burning body.

Feeling that same lightheadedness descend, Tom pressed Chakotay hard into the wall and planted sucking kisses on those lips and that jaw and that neck, raking his teeth against Chakotay's throat, tasting blood on his lips, listening to the other man's shuddering groan. His heart thundered inside of him—for the taste of blood was strangely, forbiddingly electrifying to his nerves—he slid up to bite one earlobe and sighed when Chakotay writhed against his body, his erection pressing against Tom's.

"Please, Tom…"

Oh yeah, please Chakotay, he felt like groaning himself as he lowered the other man to the floor, his body flush against him, his arms securely around him. His fingers dug their way into Chakotay's half-torn caftan and slid up his back and down and up again, and as Tom bent his head to kiss the other man's neck, he paused to notice his fingers.

They were wet, Tom thought, Chakotay's back was wet. He slipped his fingers out and stared at the blood coating them. His heart beating hard, he turned Chakotay around and tried to stifle his gasp at the sight. Chakotay's back was covered with deep angry scratches, and what was left of his caftan, was soaked with blood.

"Shit, Chief, what did they do to you?" Tom felt his breath strangling in his throat.

"What?" Chakotay asked and it was clear from his tone that he had no idea what state his back was in.

Sighing, Tom helped raise Chakotay's arms and carefully pulled the torn caftan off, shushing away any complaints. He carefully dabbed at the wounds, feeling surprised when instead of moving away from the touch, Chakotay sank back into him.

"Tom…"

Not knowing what the hell was going on, Tom hastily pulled his own caftan off and used that to clean Chakotay's back, his touch gentle on the battered skin. The aliens had to have screwed with Chakotay's brain, he thought, they had to have rewired it all wrong. The older man again moved back into his strokes, his body reacting with shuddering moans to even his wounds being touched.

"Tom, please…" Chakotay groaned.

God, Chak, what have they done to you, thought Tom, as he kissed the shoulder blades, the blood strong on his tongue, and caressed the sides of Chakotay's body. He rubbed Chakotay's arms, kissed the strong wide shoulders and then slowly turned the other man around, letting him rest against the wall. He noticed Chakotay's eyes widen at his bared chest and kissed his chin, his cheek, his nose.

"I wanna make love to you, Chak," he said, maintaining eye contact, his voice husky with sudden overwhelming need.

Chakotay licked his lips as he looked up at him, his throat convulsing. "Spirits, Tom…"

Tom knew it wasn't a denial anymore and keeping his eyes locked with Chakotay's beautiful deep brown ones, he stood up and first toed his shoes off and then quietly slipped out of his silk pants. He watched Chakotay's eyes darken as they moved down his length and he let the older man take a good, long look.

Unaware of the noteworthy fact that every single Xaoln had left the cell by this time, Tom hunkered down and planted a lingering kiss on Chakotay's mouth, held his hands for a moment and then rested his hands on Chakotay's feet.

"Let me," he said, as he stared into the dark eyes and pulled the shoes off. His hands then slid up to the waistband of Chakotay's pants and noticing the flush deepening on Chakotay's face, he kissed him again and slowly, carefully pulled them down and off his legs. He held the dark gaze for a moment and then let his eyes fall and for a second, forgot to breathe.

He'd known forever that Chakotay was not very hairy but the sight of his smooth broad chest was mouthwatering despite the current state the man was in. His chest was muscular and his stomach flat, his abs clearly defined. And then there was the fully hard, long cock pulsing against Chakotay's stomach, rising from between a few black hairs at his groin, making Tom want to bend down and worship it right then.

With a groan, Tom lowered himself to Chakotay's body, wrapped his arms around his shoulders and kissed him again. He shivered when Chakotay's hands rubbed his back, pulling him closer as he was kissed back ardently. He kissed Chakotay's lips and chin and neck as he rubbed himself against the scorching body, and felt Chakotay rock into him, feeling his throbbing cock slide against his own.

God, he needed to taste him. He sighed as he let Chakotay slide down to the floor, resting his hands around his body, his touch reassuring. He kissed the muscular chest, hearing Chakotay yelp as he tongued his nipples, tugging at them with his teeth. God, he needed more, he groaned as the scent of Chakotay's sweat and skin burned into his memory. His hands slid down the silken body, stroking every inch, touching every curve, feeling every contour, his senses acquainting themselves with every morsel of skin as he made his way down to his destination.

Yes, he needed to taste him, Tom thought, as he looked up and found Chakotay's eyes scrunched shut, his lips swollen and parted.

As he curled his fingers through Chakotay's, Tom waited until Chakotay opened his eyes and he was blasted by the heat in that gaze, and then he lowered his head and kissed the pulsing angry cock square on its head. The sweet-salt taste broke over his tongue and he suddenly felt giddy—at its strong arousing musk, at Chakotay's desperate gasps, at the dizzying delirium that filled his own senses.

Oh yeah, this was bliss. He sighed as he gripped Chakotay's hips with his hands and grasped Chakotay's cock with his teeth and then rimmed the slit with quick, unrelenting flicks of his tongue. It was again blood that Tom tasted, amidst the glorious musk of Chakotay's arousal, as he sucked and laved the length—tasting the precome coating the thick throbbing hardness.

With Chakotay writhing beneath him, Tom paid homage to the beautiful bronze body, as he savored the forbidden taste—his lips wrapped around the older man's cock—while his hands explored the smooth hard contours of Chakotay's body. His teeth grazing the throbbing vein, his mouth slid down the hard-steel length, as his fingers walked their way between Chakotay's legs, seeking his most intimate opening.

Chakotay moaned and his body shivered, as Tom gripped the firm roundness of his buttocks and carefully parted them, his tongue wrapped around Chakotay's cock, teasing the vein. "God, please…"

And suddenly Tom had to see more of Chakotay, explore more of him. Letting the cock slip from his mouth, Tom kissed his way up Chakotay's body and, wrapping his arms around the older man, gently rolled him over. Again the taste of blood and sweat pricked his senses, as he lapped his way down Chakotay's spine, his hands molding themselves to the hard, sculpted body, sensuously rubbing and caressing the skin, as Tom's teeth nipped down to the beautiful ass.

God, he needed him. Tom sighed as he took in the luscious sight of the firm body and the delectable ass. As he carefully went exploring between the buttocks, he heard Chakotay plead in half-formed sentences, which made him dip down and lick between the parted globes, relishing Chakotay's shivers and moans as he zeroed in on the puckered opening. He stabbed into the cleft with the tip of his tongue, feeling Chakotay's groans more than hearing them as the older man thrashed under him.

But damn, Chakotay didn't have to verbalize his need with words anymore. His body convulsing under Tom's ministrations and his long and needy groans told him everything. The blood, sweat, and spit made it less difficult to delve into the opening, and as Tom's fingers went exploring, doing all they could to relax the orifice, he had to use his other hand to hold Chakotay's writhing body down.

"Please, Tom…" Chakotay cried.

"Shh, I got you," Tom panted into Chakotay's ears, as he used the same blood and sweat to coat his own throbbing cock. And then holding Chakotay's hips down, he aligned his cock with the loosened opening and saying a little prayer, pushed inside.

Ah, this was more than bliss. Tom groaned as slowly rocking back and forth he pushed in to the hilt. It was heat and pain and anger and rapture all rolled into one unbelievable physical sensation and it filled Tom's heart to the brim. Chakotay shivered and pushed back at him and Tom felt as if he was going to explode, so amazing the feeling was. To have this man with him like this, so beautiful, so vulnerable, so hot and burning, and to be integrated with his body like this, Tom thought he'd weep—so overwhelmed he was.

He didn't know what he was feeling, didn't know what name to give the strange emotion that suddenly seized him. All he knew was that it made his heart ache, made his breath catch in his throat, made his mouth dry. But then the sound of Chakotay's shuddering groan shook him out of his daze and Tom ran his hands wonderingly down from Chakotay's shoulders to his hips, as he pulled out of the heated enclave and slid back in, sighing in abandon.

"Tom…" Chakotay quivered.

His groin flush against Chakotay, Tom pulled out and drove back into him, feeling the tight hot channel sheathing his cock, gripping it savagely. Chakotay's sighs and moans filled his ears, as he gripped his hands, angling his hips for maximum penetration, feeling the shivers and shudders in the other's body sinking into his nerves. As he buried himself deeper, he heard a litany of pleas emerge from Chakotay's mouth and wrapped his arms around his chest, lowering himself to graze his lips against his cheek.

"What do you want, Chak?" he panted against his neck, as his hands palmed Chakotay's chest, his fingers seeking out those nipples.

"I need… I need to see you, Tom…" Chakotay groaned.

Tom's teeth sought out that delectable neck and nipped the salty skin, enthralled by Chakotay's taste and smell, as he rolled his hips against the writhing body underneath him—absorbing the tremors running down its length.

"Tom…"

Ah yes, he felt so good, Tom thought, as he kissed Chakotay's neck, running his hands up and down his body, delighting in the silken feel of Chakotay's skin. As he pulled out and leisurely slid back in, Tom felt his eyelids fluttering at the sensation overload, his cock squeezed in the tight heated channel. Latching his lips to Chakotay's throat, Tom skimmed his hands down to grip Chakotay's hot burning cock.

"Please…" Chakotay shuddered, rocking back into him, as Tom wrapped his fingers around his hard, throbbing cock, slippery with its own juice and playfully pulled at the length. "Please…"

"Mmm… yeah, I need to see you too, baby." Tom kissed Chakotay's neck, his throat, his shoulder blade, as he slowly pulled out of him and lovingly holding him close, turned Chakotay around. And stared wide-eyed at the man.

God, he was beautiful, Tom thought, as he felt his breath halt in his throat, his eyes roaming the flushed shivering length of Chakotay's body. Even wounded and delirious, he painted an irresistible picture, with his breath ragged, his skin glowing, his eyes glittering and black, and his sensuous mouth bruised and panting.

Love, Tom breathed, this was love, this incredible all-encompassing sensation that wrenched his heart out and filled his senses and cleaved into his soul, it was love—he felt his heart thumping at the realization as he stared into the beautiful dark eyes.

"Do you see me, Chak?" he asked, his voice trembling, as he reached out and traced Chakotay's firm jaw line, his throat suddenly tight. And when Chakotay stared deep into his eyes and pulled him into a kiss, Tom felt his insides turn to slush, felt his heart booming in his throat, and his eyes burning with inexplicable tears.

And then Chakotay was offering himself, his body hard and burning, his hands pulling Tom in, and it was too much, too soon—too beautiful to endure. But Tom could do nothing but submit. Enraptured, he covered Chakotay's body with his own and as the strong thighs opened to wrap around his waist, he sank into the glorious heat again, groaning at the blissful embrace.

Tom gripped Chakotay's hips, slid his fingers down to feel the point of their connection, as he angled his drives to sink in as deep as he could, loving the ecstasy on Chakotay's contorted face. He pulled Chakotay's thighs up, resting them against Chakotay's chest, as he pulled out and slid back in, and pulled out and slid back in, sinking deeper and deeper into the heated clasp every time. Chakotay's eyes were locked with his own, his chest heaving as he thrust back at Tom, and Tom felt himself fall into their shimmering blackness, his senses on overload.

Chakotay's fingers suddenly clutched at his arms as he rammed in deeper, his groans loud, and Tom watched the dark eyes slide back into their sockets as his cock grazed the older man's prostate.

"Please, God…" he didn't know who it was that pleaded, for his ears were ringing and his vision swimming as he felt his shaft squeezed into the exquisite internal clenching of Chakotay's ass. Close, so damn close, he thought, as he gripped Chakotay's hot pulsing cock in his hand, the length throbbing and slick, and he pumped hard, inhaling the musky scent of its release.

It only took a few strokes before Chakotay's body went rigid and then arched, thrashing in Tom's arms, his head thrown back in rapture as the older man screamed. As his cock pulsed in Tom's grip and hot jets of come coated his hands, Tom felt his own cock clamped down on by Chakotay's internal muscles, beautifully and incredibly squeezed and wrung. And with a shout he too came, his hips ramming into Chakotay's body over and over, his hands clutching the other in a death grip, as his body spilled itself in hard short burning bursts.

Seconds later, Tom felt himself fall onto Chakotay's unmoving form, and wrapped his arms around the older man, his arms seeking out the heat that still pulsed in the slick strong body, his lips rubbing against the cooling sweat on Chakotay's neck.

Yes, this was love, he thought, as he felt his cock slip out of its enclosure. This had to be love because it twisted his heart and soul and all of his emotions into a tangle that made his breath catch in his throat and his heart constrict within his chest. It hurt but dammit, it was bliss too, even if it was like an open wound, only it wasn't, it was love, it was supposed to feel good, it was supposed to feel blessed.

But then at least he had Chakotay in his arms. So what if he couldn't answer him right now, Tom hugged the older man closer, what if he wasn't even conscious right now? He was still in his arms, he was with Tom, and Tom would make everything all right. Soon. Yes, he would talk to Chakotay, he would explain everything to him, and he would understand, yes he would. And if he didn't, then Tom would take him in his arms and shake him up and _make_ him understand.

He felt his eyelids flutter with exhaustion. He'd never let Chakotay go again, Tom thought, as he pressed a kiss to the other man's forehead, never.

And with that promise made, Tom sank his face into Chakotay's throat, wrapped his arms tighter around him, and promptly fell into oblivion.

* * *

It was several hours later, closer to the early morning of their fifth day on Kel'nohr, when Tuvok led the Zokaa'rian rescue team to break into the dungeon.

He found his two crewmates lying unconscious on one of the cell floors, wrapped in each other's arms.

As he covered them with a blanket, he watched a Zokaa'rian guard place transport enhancers around Commander Chakotay and Ensign Paris. When it was done, he quietly called Voyager for emergency transport, and all of them shimmered out of the Xaoln prison cell.

**Continued in Chap 6  
**


	7. Chapter 6

**Absolute Power, Chapter 6**

**DEMENTED**_**  
**_

_****48 hours later, afternoon****_

Kathryn Janeway was incensed.

She knew Kel'kar'vheel had lied to her.

The minute the away team was located and brought back to the ship, she'd known something had gone severely wrong. And all it had taken was those few moments she'd chosen to go and check on their status in the Sickbay when he'd decided to disappear behind her back.

That filthy back-stabbing coward, her nostrils flared.

Her fury had erupted in full force after that as she'd thrown out all the Zokaa'rian personnel present on Voyager. No one could question the cause of that anger. It was more than justified. After all, prior to the away team's location, the Voyager crew had been treated like criminals themselves—a fact Kathryn had relentlessly begged the local authorities to change and fought with the Guard Patrol to show forbearance for. But now that Chakotay and Tom were back on board, it had been plainly made clear that they had all been grossly mistreated. The Sovereignty was fittingly mortified at how they had dealt with her crew.

However, now the only answer she was getting from the Kel'zian diplomatic channels was that His Excellency was busy conferring with the Zokaa'rian High Council on the status of the Voyager dilemma.

The Zokaa'rian High Council be damned, she snarled as her grip on the coffee mug tightened. She could not believe how mad she was, how much this situation upset her. How many times was she going to come across men who would cross her, disobey her and disregard her position just because they had failed to realize the power in her disposition? Her teeth gritted, and she felt the mug shake in her hand. _How many times?_

But she knew what hurt worse, what made her even more infuriated. It was facing the profaned depravation of infidelity from the one she'd trusted more than anyone else—the one who'd promised to share her burden and vowed to stand by her side till the end of times.

That betrayal was like being slapped in the face. That lie made her want to smash the face that had dared give her this ultimate deception.

Chakotay. She felt her breath catch in her throat, as the pain and anger sank into her senses. How could he break the confidence they had forged together while crossing all those intimate lines in the privacy of their quarters? How dare he cheat on her, go behind her back? How dare he even touch another person without her permission? She felt sickened—disgusted beyond belief. How many times would she cross paths with heretics who would dispute the magnificence she was born to lead with?

HOW MANY TIMES!

With a screeching shout, Kathryn yanked back her arm and with full force threw the glass mug at the far wall of her quarters—watching as it smashed into smithereens.

Broken. Just like her heart. Jagged and prickly, shards of glass.

Her heart thudding loud, she tried to bring her breathing under control. Dammit, she had to get a grip on herself. She had to look at things rationally.

Hadn't the Doctor said it was the drugs that had made Chakotay act the way he had? That mélange of wayward alien microscopic toxins, which had given Chakotay and Tom's nervous systems a blow unlike any they'd ever known before. It was clear that what he'd done with Tom had only been influenced by drugs and hadn't meant ANYTHING. He'd just been out of his mind. That's all.

Why else would he choose to have sex with _Tom_? She snorted. Of all the people to choose: Tom Paris. Tom was someone Chakotay couldn't even stand. She'd made sure of that. What had he called Tom to her? Her pet reclamation project? He hated Tom. He detested him. And Tom detested _him_. These two couldn't even stand to be in the same room together. And they'd had _sex_ in that alien prison?

Kathryn's eyes narrowed as she analyzed the data at her disposal.

Yes, she had to think things clearly. It had been two days since the away team had returned to Voyager. Both Chakotay and Tom had been released from Sickbay the previous night. She had had enough time at her disposal to figure out a way to approach her line of questioning.

Besides, this wasn't the first time she'd faced a betrayal from someone she'd trusted. The last time she'd come across a similar situation, facing treachery at the hands of those she'd entrusted with her deepest beliefs, she'd taken payback with interest. And then some more.

Kathryn Janeway smiled.

Yes, she knew exactly which way to go now. When faced with a particularly complex deception, there were really only two options.

Make the person admit their guilt.

Or make them pay with blood.

* * *

**_**Evening**_**

His thoughts running in an endless tortuous loop, Chakotay sat on the floor of his living room, his head in his hands, his back against the couch, his mind lost in commotion.

From his reaction to Tom's outburst on their first night in the Xaoln prison to Tom's arrival in the second cell to save him two nights later, every word he'd spoken, every touch he'd felt, every breath he'd taken seemed entrenched, engraved, and encased within his soul.

Even though his body still cringed at the fleeting memories of the Xaoln violation of his mind, foremost on his mind was the feeling of that sudden and complete safety that Tom's touch had evoked in him. His gentle exploring hands, his shouted desperate pleas, his softly voiced entreaties—all of them filled Chakotay's senses with a tingle unlike any he'd ever felt in his life. Pain and love and agony and hope and doubts crashed into him from all sides like a serrated mesh of bewilderment—his thoughts wrangling and twisting at the disarray they found him in.

It was the drugs, the Doctor had said. The alien toxins were responsible, nothing more, he'd said. They should soon be back to normal, he'd assured.

Such vicious jokes life played with you sometimes, Chakotay bit his lips. He had been a fool for many people in his life and he couldn't believe he was going to have to live this lie as well. No matter how much he didn't want to believe what the Doctor was saying, how could he dispute the evidence? The medical scans said it clearly. What they had gone through had been the physiological response of the intoxicants they'd found themselves subjected to. Nothing more.

Tom had only done what he had because he was driven by guilt for what he'd said to him earlier.

Chakotay had told Tom that he didn't owe him anything, but Tom had disagreed. He was sorry for what he'd said and that misplaced sense of culpability had forced him to do what he had. The only reason he'd had sex with Chakotay was because he'd thought he'd mistreated him and he wanted to make things better.

But then Chakotay _had_ such a large hand in placing all that blame on Tom in the first place, didn't he?

His lips caught between his teeth, Chakotay found himself agonizing over the damning things he'd said to Tom in their first conversation. God, he gritted his teeth, how _could_ he have placed the whole damn mess on Tom's head like that? How could he have censured Tom for never coming to him to clear the air, when he himself had never sat down to talk to him?

Instead of ignoring the younger man's ravings like the drunken drivel that they actually were, he'd lashed back at him with all his anger, heaping up all those accusations that were nothing more than his immature reaction to what was clearly an insecurity issue on Tom's part. All those things he'd said, dammit, how could he have misjudged things so badly?

Tom had been hurt, he'd been drugged, he'd certainly not been in his senses, and all Chakotay had thought of was how Tom's frenzied condemnations had dug up old wounds that simply had never had the chance to heal properly? Spirits, it wasn't Tom's fault that Janeway hadn't trusted him during the Jonas incident. Why the hell did he say all that to Tom then? What purpose did it serve? Tom had been in shock, for God's sake, he probably didn't even know what bullshit he was spewing.

What other proof could Chakotay want of Tom's loyalty towards him? Tom had showed up in that filthy cell swarming with the Xaolns to save _his_ ass. Tom had given him his body, had made love to him. So wrong, Chakotay groaned, he'd been so wrong.

He felt his frown deepen. Was it just guilt? Or was there something more? What message had those blue eyes been giving him when they'd locked with his own in Sickbay when he'd woken up? Not a word had been spoken between them but then perhaps none had been needed. Perhaps, Tom was feeling as confused by the turn of events as Chakotay himself was. Perhaps it was just the proof of a physical touch—those warm fingers in Chakotay's hair—which Tom had needed to assure himself that all was well in the universe.

Chakotay shook his head to clear the chaos building inside. He just couldn't understand why mere guilt would make Tom go to such lengths to make up with him? Could he possibly be wrong about Tom's reasons for doing what he had? He had been wrong about Tom before. Was it possible that Tom had risked his own well being for Chakotay because there was more going on than he saw right now?

Spirits, could he dare to place his trust in those hands again?

Like a gust of fresh, scented air, flowing down a hill on a riverside, that crazy hope filled Chakotay's every breath, every pore—electrifying every nerve ending.

He raised his head and stared at the closed doors of his quarters.

No. He was not going to disregard what Tom had shared with him simply because it was safer territory to retreat into. He was going to find out what was going on in Tom's head.

He was going to talk to Tom. _Now_.

* * *

B'Elanna Torres watched Tom's eyes drop from their scrutiny of the star view outside his window, and turn to her.

The blue depths were shimmering with an emotion she'd never seen on his face before—something solemn, something almost earnest, and unlike anything she was used to dealing with when in his presence.

Tom Paris had always been a playful guy. He liked laughing at people, loved poking fun at himself, and took constant delight in joking around with everyone and everything on Voyager. As far as she knew Tom Paris didn't do earnest very well.

But then, with Tom she'd never faced a situation quite as… profound as the one she was facing now. It was a situation of outright dishevelment. This had the potential of changing everything in her life.

"I didn't mean to do this behind your back, B'Elanna."

The words were said quietly but B'Elanna felt as if they filled all her senses, inundated her whole being. For a moment it was as if there was no other sound left in the whole universe. Just these ten words, thrown out in the open: this all-encompassing, life-altering dilemma.

Who was she really kidding? Could she lie to Tom and put the blame on him? Could she lie to herself and ignore the past three weeks? Could she lie to—

She stopped the mental barrage, her breath suddenly catching in her throat. Oh no, not right now, she couldn't go _there_ right now.

She looked at Tom. "You didn't." She swallowed. "You didn't break up with ME, Tom."

His face was contorted with anguish. "But that's it, isn't it? I hadn't broken up with you and yet…"

She stared into his eyes. "Yet what?" Was he going to blame this whole mess on himself after all? "You didn't have a choice, did you?"

"And yet…" His face was flushed pink as he stared deep into her eyes, his blue eyes suddenly clear, not a shadow of doubt clouding them. "I fell for him, head over heels."

For a moment, she felt lost in his gaze.

Love? This was about _love_?

She found herself at a loss for words. It suddenly occurred to her that his anguish was because of what he was feeling for… _him_. If this was love, then Tom's love _was_ anguish. She had never known love to be painful. What she'd had with Tom had never been painful. It had been fun, joyous, mostly convenient, at times irritating, and recently an annoyance. It had never made her feel agonized, anguished, or heart-wrenched.

Even the discomfort she was feeling right now was not because of what he'd done, but because of whom he had done it with. B'Elanna shook her head—Kahless, could she get any more clichéd than that? And did she even have the right to question what he'd done? After all, she knew the shit they had gone through down there. It wasn't like they had had a choice. It had been such a close fucking call.

But her discomfort was private, untouched by anyone. Even unnoticed by the man she had come to break up with.

"One minute we were yelling at each other." Tom was in his own world, pacing his living room, wringing his hands. "I was digging up every filthy dirty argument and misunderstanding from our past to stack up as accusations against him…" His voice was hoarse, his breath short. "And the next minute… he was there and he was hurt." Tom stopped and turned to look at her, grimacing. "And I knew I had wronged him, terribly, perhaps irreparably, and I had to do something, anything, to save him, to help him…"

B'Elanna felt her throat get tight. "Tom…"

"Because I knew he would've done the same for me." Tom's eyes shone with moisture. "In fact he got in worse trouble because the idiot thought he was trying to save me." Tom gritted his teeth. "Even after all that I'd said to him, all that I'd done to him, he was trying to save ME." Tom's voice was pure disbelief.

But B'Elanna could relate to it one hundred percent. She knew the man very well. "Sounds like Chakotay," she said, and she suddenly realized that she could say his name after all without folding in on herself. She could even say it with the same glimmer of love and loyalty she always associated with him in her heart.

"He really got hurt, B'El." Tom stared at her. "They hurt him, and they wanted to hurt him even worse."

She knew that. She's read the reports.

"But you stopped them," she told him, her voice firm. "You helped him."

She also knew if she didn't stop this damn guilt routine right now, Tom would literally drown in self-recrimination. He was that kind of a guy too.

"What are you going to do?" she asked him, when he didn't reply.

"I am…" he leaned back against the wall, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his brow furrowed. "I want to…" he lowered his eyes for a moment and then brought them up to look at her. "I want to make it work, B'Elanna. I want to tell him everything, tell him how I really feel." He closed his eyes for a second and breathed hard. "God, I love him."

So he could say the word for Chakotay far easier than he ever said anything for her. Hell, he'd _never_ said it to her, period. She fought hard to keep her face calm. She was damned if she was going to let stupid hopeless thoughts of 'what-ifs' make this situation any worse for any of them.

"Can you believe this?" He was looking into her eyes now, his expression awed. "I love Chakotay. I didn't mean to fall in love with him, didn't know I was capable of something like this, but I am, God I am."

He was admitting that he'd thought he could never fall in love. Not with her, that is. At least he was being honest, unlike her—B'Elanna felt a bitter laugh gurgling in her throat and swiftly swallowed it.

"You never expect to fall in love, Tom," she said plainly, telling him the truth. "It just happens."

But there was something in his eyes. A quiet simmering realization that he knew what she was feeling.

"I never wanted to hurt you, B'Elanna," he said.

"You didn't, you idiot." She snorted, suddenly wanting to dispel any notion that she was wronged in anyway. "I dumped YOU first, remember?"

Still Tom looked at her as if he knew what she was thinking. His eyes probed hers a long moment, that knowing look stamped on his face, and then slowly, quietly he nodded. B'Elanna watched a strange uncertainly replace the sureness in his eyes.

"What's bothering you?" she asked.

Tom shook his head, swallowed, raised his hand to run it through his hair, and then sighed. "I don't think… he trusts me yet."

She frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean…" He took a deep breath and looked at her. "He trusted me with his body but he doesn't trust me with his heart yet." That hint of guilt again as his lips pressed together. "And how can I blame him? I hurt him so much, I was such a jerk."

"But you went back for him after that, didn't you?" B'Elanna said. "He knows you came for him."

"He doesn't trust me, B'Elanna," Tom insisted, his brow wrinkled. "Not with his heart."

"Well, you won't find out for sure until you speak with him, will you?" she stared at him, her voice insistent, urging.

And that was the ultimate test, wasn't it? Was Tom going to treat Chakotay with the same indifference that she'd treated Tom with or was he going to pursue the man with all his heart? Would he back off and hide at the first sign of trouble or would he take the risk?

The door chime took them out of their thoughts, hers bordering on exasperation, his undoubtedly troubled—and with a staggering sigh, Tom straightened his stance, turned towards the entrance and called out, "Come."

The door opened to reveal the object of their conversation: Chakotay.

B'Elanna felt her eyes widen at the sight of the man, standing there, his hands pressed to his sides. This was the first time she'd seen him since he'd been released from Sickbay. Her eyes searched his face, his posture, for any signs of distress, any hints of pain or lingering illness. He looked exhausted, his face pale. She felt her heart turn in her chest.

"Chak…" Tom looked equally stunned to see him there.

Chakotay's mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, and then his gaze fell on B'Elanna, and in that one moment, she caught a glimpse of the bedlam within his soul. His startled eyes suddenly filled with a strange array of emotions—sorrow, guilt, hope, despair—and she watched him physically attempt to calm his appearance, to smooth out his expression. His mouth worked for a moment, and then his eyes turned to Tom again.

"I… I am sorry, Tom…" he said, his dark eyes darting to her face for a second, "B'Elanna, I didn't mean to disturb you two. I just…" His brow wrinkled for a moment and then smoothed out as he swallowed. "Please excuse me."

"No, wait," Tom called out, his voice urgent, as he took a step forward. "Chak…"

"No," Chakotay staggered back, his hands in front of him, as if he wanted to stop Tom from coming any closer. "Please…" His body language screamed desperation. "Not now. I'll talk to you later, Tom, later."

And then with one more look in her direction, he turned around and was gone. The door swished shut behind him.

"Chak!" Tom cried out at the closed door, taking one more step, and then swung around, his hands balled into fists. "DAMMIT," he cried.

"Tom…" B'Elanna sighed.

"What did I tell you, B'El?" He groaned. "He does NOT trust me."

"Would you shut the hell up?" she growled and huffed when he looked up at her with startled eyes. "Look," she said, "he was just spooked to see me here, okay? Give him a little time to settle down and then go after him, clear everything up with him. It's simple."

Tom snorted. "Easier said than done."

"Love isn't supposed to be _easy_, Tom." She gritted her teeth, ignoring the bitterness she felt at saying the words. "It's _your_ call. You said you want to make it work." Her eyes locked with his blue ones. "Well, news flash, flyboy: you have to WORK in order to make it work."

* * *

Chakotay found himself in Observation Lounge three, Deck 6.

How conveniently he had forgotten B'Elanna, he thought, shaking his head in disbelief. His thoughts in turmoil, he felt a dull throbbing pain begin in his temples.

His mind had focused solely on Tom, converged entirely on what he wanted to resolve with the younger man, and like a selfish bastard, he'd completely blanked out B'Elanna from the equation.

So what if he'd known ages ago that she'd wanted to break things off with Tom? So what if she'd even come to _him_ to discuss the situation two weeks ago? He was more than just a commander to her, more than just a fellow Maquis. He was family. She was like a sister. She always discussed things with him, always asked his opinion on matters most important to her.

Tom had been one such matter.

She had come to Chakotay to sort out her jumbled feelings about Tom. He'd even asked her to try, Chakotay snorted, to give Tom another chance. But she had said she couldn't lie to Tom anymore, couldn't keep him or herself hanging on that thread any longer.

He knew her well enough to know when she had made up her mind. He had realized then that Tom and B'Elanna were over.

And thus, with that knowledge safe in his heart, he had utterly put that matter out of his conscious mind. Even when Tom had brought it up their first night in the prison, he'd declined to talk about it because he felt it was an issue which only B'Elanna and Tom should discuss. He was just a counselor, a mentor to her. He could listen to her rants but he could not discuss them with anyone else. Not even with Tom. Especially not with Tom.

But like an idiot, he had also completely disregarded the possibility of her discontent with what he and Tom had gone through down there.

How could he have ignored that? Spirits, she had obviously not broken off with Tom before they'd gone down to Kel'nohr. They had issues to resolve, things to clear up.

Had she changed her mind about Tom?

He reached the viewport and stared out at the station. What was Tom thinking about right now? Chakotay's brow wrinkled. What was going to happen?

He leaned against the window, his elbow pressed to the pane, and tried to calm his jangling nerves.

* * *

Kathryn knew Chakotay wouldn't have stayed locked up in his quarters for long. The Doctor had ordered both he and Tom to "Rest from their ordeal uninterrupted for at least forty-eight hours," and Chakotay had apparently had enough after the first day.

Well, good for him, she thought, as she quietly entered the observation lounge—her eyes quickly fixing on the sight of his broad frame against the starlit viewport. Now he'd get a chance to explain his actions to her.

"It's a thrilling feeling, isn't it?" she said, her voice cold.

With a visible start, Chakotay turned around and the same innocently startled expression came on his face that she'd seen a thousand times. Oh yes, he loved doing the innocent routine, didn't he?

"Captain." He looked at her, his brown eyes wide. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I am sure you didn't, Chakotay." Kathryn tried to keep her voice normal but a strange bitterness still crept into it. "You have your eyes and ears glued elsewhere these days."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

She scowled at his intrinsic stupefaction. "You didn't answer my question."

His eyes insolently narrowed. "Which was?"

"The thrill you must've felt," she chewed every word. "The utterly magnificent, undeniably sinful shiver your contemptuous conduct must've given you. Tell me, how does it feel?"

He stared at her in bafflement. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't be so naïve, Chakotay." She sneered, "The whole ship knows how you used your position of authority to force a subordinate into having sex with you."

His mouth dropped open in yet another parody of stupid disbelief. "Forced? This is a joke, right?"

"Oh, I've never been more serious." Kathryn felt contempt fill her bones. "Tell me how I'm supposed to enforce discipline on the ship when my First Officer sets such a crude and wholly reprehensible example."

"Reprehensible?" he spat, outraged. "You're out of your fucking mind. You KNOW what happened down there."

Kathryn felt her hackles rise. "That is no WAY to talk to your captain, Mister," she growled. "And I know EXACTLY what happened. You, with your insipid lack of intellect, created circumstances down there that brought Tom Paris into a situation where he was forced to perform sexual favors for you."

"I created the situation?" He shook his head, obviously still not ready to see the light. "I almost DIED down there. Tom saved my life."

"What else was he supposed to do?" she grated. "He remembered your life-debt to him, that antiquated tribal custom you'd bound him to six years ago." Her eyes narrowed as her brain aptly joined the dots of the puzzle. "How clever," she drawled. "How utterly _ingenious_ of you. You had an epiphany six years ago and look at the situation NOW. How convenient, I must say."

Chakotay suddenly snorted, his manner disgustingly discourteous. "Kathryn, you're insane!"

"I am PERFECTLY sane," she snarled. "Don't you even know what you've DONE? You've used Tom Paris, and by doing so have destroyed a beautiful, flourishing relationship between him and the woman you dare to call your best friend."

A shadow passed over Chakotay's face and she knew she'd scored a point. This was the line of reasoning she had to pursue to bring him to his knees.

"What happened between Tom and B'Elanna is their _private_ matter," he was saying, his voice shaking. "It has NOTHING to do with YOU." His face twisted in anger. "And what happened between Tom and I has got nothing to do with you either. It's none of your concern."

"What about what exists between you and ME, Chakotay?" Her voice shook. "Does it concern me, tell me this?"

"What are you talking about?" he frowned at her.

She let all her pain and agony show on her face. "How could you be so heartless, Chakotay?" Her brow creased. "You do this with all the women in your life, don't you? You make them fall in love with you and then you leave them. First Seska, then B'Elanna, and now me."

As she'd expected, hearing B'Elanna's name made him blank everything else out. His eyes widened.

"B'Elanna?" he started, his disbelief obvious. "B'Elanna is like a sister to me. She's never… I've never…"

She cut him off in the middle. "And of course YOU were BLIND to her devotion to you all these years. Everyone knows she only went with Tom because she couldn't have you. He was her second choice."

And it wasn't like she was making it all up. Years ago, during the Botha incident, Kathryn had recognized B'Elanna's… need for Chakotay. As a woman, Kathryn knew that his appeal, while not all that intellectually stimulating, was at the very least physically stirring. Those rugged good looks, that ever-present smile which he flashed at everyone and everything that moved, had stolen many a heart.

However, B'Elanna had never made a move on him and all these years, Kathryn had known Chakotay had never made a move on anyone else on the ship—which was the way she liked it. Like all men, he was much easier to control when he was lonely and pining after her as he was supposed to. This vision of an independent Chakotay, who actually had someone else wanting him back, did not appeal to her at all.

And like always, all she had to do was throw a new bone at him and he'd forget the last one. Hearing Tom's name threw him off track yet again.

"You've lost your mind," he said, his face tight. "Tom was not second choice to her. B'Elanna cared about him."

"And that's why you took even HIM away from her." She glared at Chakotay. "Who would've known…" her voice dripped hatred, "…that such a _mild-mannered man_ would play such cruel mind games?"

His mouth worked in utter unbelief. "Mind games?"

"Pulling everyone on a string," she huffed. "Playing with their deepest and most vulnerable emotions."

His mouth tightened. "You're irrational!"

She ignored the slur and marched on, her objective clear in her mind. "But I am not like everyone else, Chakotay," she softened her tone. This was the time to switch the game plan. "I can still give you a second chance."

He stared at her. "Second chance?"

"Yes," she said. "You just have to renew your promise to me. You have to make good on it once and for all."

"What promise are you talking about?"

"Your oath, Chakotay." She took a step closer. "Your noble, wretched oath to me." She felt her breath catch as the reality of his betrayal again clawed at her soul. "You said you'd stay by my side till the end of times, Chakotay. You said you'd share my burden. Did you forget that promise, that most intimate of vows that you made with your Kathryn?"

His face was strangely pale. "My… pledge to you was a PROFESSIONAL one. And I've fulfilled it completely." His brow wrinkled. "You never wanted a relationship, remember? You didn't want to alter the parameters. Kathryn, you made it clear _years_ ago. You didn't want me."

"Is sex all you can think about?" she shouted, as disdain filled her heart. "I am the captain. I follow the hierarchy which all captains follow and that hierarchy entails strict adherence to protocols that divided the two of us from ever conceiving a bonding in flesh, Chakotay. But we did have a bonding of souls, of minds, didn't we? This beautiful… majestic… intimate fealty you molded for me."

"Bonding? Fealty?" He stared at her in incredulity. "We were friends, Kathryn, nothing more. We could never be anything beyond that. You showed it by your actions." His voice rose in volume. "What is WRONG with you?"

So now he was going to outright deny everything that had existed between them? Kathryn felt her body shaking in anger as tears flooded her eyes. "Nothing between us?" She felt a familiar twitch in her left cheek as pain filled her chest. "Have you been BLIND? I've wanted you, I've craved you with every inch of my soul…"

He shook his head, his face unbelieving. "NO! That's not true."

"…with every inch of my being…" She took another step forward.

He clenched his teeth. "Kathryn…"

And suddenly she couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't take this denial, this betrayal, this lying, this pathetic unbelievable posturing. With an enraged shout, she jumped on the man she'd called her friend for six years.

"HOW DARE YOU TURN YOUR BACK ON ME?" she shouted, her fingers clawing at his shirt.

"Kathryn!" He staggered back at her forceful assault, his eyes wide. "STOP IT."

"HOW DARE YOU!" she snarled, her fingernails digging into his arm as she pinned him against the wall.

Her breath heaving, her eyes wide with disbelief, she watched as he rudely grabbed her slight shoulders and shook her violently—like an animal.

"STOP IT," he shouted.

She felt her nails cut into the cloth of his shirt and dig into the flesh of his arm and the sensation of blood spurting out made her shiver with an oddly triumphant feeling—fueling her rage even more.

But he was shaking her harder; his face contorted with fury as he grabbed her and turned her around, pushing her against the wall.

"STOP IT," he yelled in her face, his gleaming dark eyes suddenly hideous with anger. "STOP IT BEFORE YOU HURT YOURSELF, KATHRYN!"

Her throat tight with hatred, she raised her hand to slap his face but he caught her wrist in a death grip. "You bastard!" she growled.

"You've become unhinged, Captain." He pressed his lips together. "I suggest you check yourself into Sickbay. The events of the last few days have obviously affected your senses."

Such contemptible impertinence, Kathryn felt her mouth twist in repulsion. "You'll regret this, you sonofa—"

"This conversation is OVER!" he interrupted her with a tightening grip on her shoulders as he pressed her further into the wall.

And for one moment, he was implacable and dark and dangerous, and Kathryn felt the same disgust for him now that she'd felt for him when he'd appeared on Voyager's Bridge for the first time. That shameless Maquis traitor. "Stay the hell AWAY from me." He emphasized each word, his nostrils flaring.

And then he backed away, and without another word, turned around and walked out of the lounge.

She stared at the closed doors and felt a new wave of painful loathing simmering inside her.

She was going to make him pay, she promised herself.

With a heave, she pulled herself together, shrugged back into a semblance of normality, and stalked out of the lounge.

However, in her distressed state, she never noticed the metal grate shifting back into place, once again covering the ventilation shaft in the ceiling—as her shocked audience came out of a trance and slowly crawled out of the Jeffries tube.

* * *

**_**Night**_**

Tom knew B'Elanna was right.

He had to go after Chakotay. He had to clear everything up with him, get everything out in the open.

That was his only choice, probably his only chance as well. If he had any hope in hell of making this thing work with Chakotay, he had to be completely honest with him. He knew what he wanted; his objective was clear in his heart and in his mind. Now he just had to work up the courage to lay it all out in front of Chakotay.

When B'Elanna left, he took a few moments to gather his thoughts, and then went looking for the man. However, the location check on Chakotay's position led him to an empty turbolift where he found a combadge lying on the floor.

And suddenly, Tom knew something was wrong.

Had Chakotay been so upset at what he'd seen—or rather what he thought he'd seen—in Tom's quarters that he had decided to go into hiding? Was he trying to avoid being found by Tom? That was so unlike Chakotay. It just didn't make sense.

Dammit, Tom shook his head—didn't Chakotay know he had other ways of zeroing in on locations?

However, Tom soon realized they didn't call Chakotay the Mystic Warrior just for fun. As he accessed the computer and discreetly ran search patterns for Chakotay's life signs, he found the subroutine ending in the middle of the loop, leaving the search incomplete and him exasperated. After several dozen tries, which took nearly an hour, the closest he could get was to discover Chakotay's vague location was somewhere in the lower five decks.

Tom resorted to manual searching—going through every public location, and a few private ones as well. Ignoring irritated Fleeters and Maquis whom he disturbed, he strategically went through all rooms, all quarters, apologizing for his intrusion but promising it was for the good of the ship.

He felt himself sag with relief when he finally found Chakotay, sitting on the floor of a tiny lounge just outside the Escape Pods access on Deck 14, staring out of the window.

For a moment, Tom stood quietly and watched the man's stance, noting the tension in his frame. Then he took a deep breath and carefully approached him.

"There you are," he said, keeping his voice soft and casual, even if his heart skidded relentlessly in his chest.

There was no answer and he saw no change in Chakotay's posture at the sound of his voice—undoubtedly he already knew Tom was there.

Doesn't matter, big guy, Tom thought, I'm not going anywhere without laying all my cards on the table.

He settled down next to Chakotay on the floor, pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. For a short while, he stared at the sight of the Zokaa'rian station outside the tiny porthole. Many security ships were presently docked at the station, for Voyager's sake—the events of the last few days had shaken up the whole Sovereignty.

With a sigh, he turned to his silent companion. "I've been looking for you all over the ship."

There was again no response. He saw the adam's apple bob in the strong throat.

"Here," he offered the combadge to Chakotay, "I think you left your combadge in the turbolift."

"Not a very smart move, I guess," Chakotay muttered, his tone grim, his voice strangely hoarse. "I should've chucked it out of an airlock." He sounded disgusted.

Tom felt his breathing quicken. "Chakotay?"

"No." Chakotay shook his head as he sighed. "It's all right. I'm not mad at you."

But he kept his eyes to the front, still not looking at him. Tom felt something turn inside him.

"Chakotay…"

"Tom, what the hell are you doing here?" Chakotay suddenly snapped, as if he had known an objection was coming and wanted to get on the offensive first. "You should be—"

"I should be what?" Tom interrupted him. "With B'Elanna?"

A frown appeared on Chakotay's face and keeping his eyes averted, he attempted to get up, his body rigid.

"Wait." Tom grabbed his arm and pulled him down again. "You're not going anywhere, Chak. Not until you've heard everything I have to say."

Now Chakotay looked at him and the anguish in his eyes staggered Tom. "What is there to say, Tom?"

Tom felt his throat tighten. Chakotay really had misunderstood everything. He bit his lips. "What you saw in my quarters meant nothing, Chakotay."

Chakotay closed his eyes, his brow furrowed as he shook his head. "Tom…"

"B'Elanna came to tell me she'd broken up with me."

After an initial struggle, Tom watched as those eyes opened and Chakotay stared at him—a strange look on his face.

Tom looked into the brown eyes. "You… knew, didn't you?" Realization suddenly dawned. "That was what you didn't want to mention on the planet, when we were in the prison, wasn't it? She had told you." Tom gripped Chakotay's other arm, trying to turn him towards him. "What did you think, Chak, that after everything we'd been through together down there, I'd come back and patch things up with B'Elanna?"

Chakotay pulled out his arms out of Tom's grasp. "It doesn't matter what I think."

"But it does, Chak. What you think and how you feel does matter." Tom felt his voice shaking and tried to control it. "I want to know what you think. I need to."

"Why, Tom?" There was pain in those eyes and Tom wondered if he was still the cause of it. "What difference does it make?"

Tom felt despair closing in and sucked in a staggering breath. "You're still mad at me."

Chakotay bit his lip as he closed his eyes again, the anguish on his face apparent.

"What you said down there…" Tom continued. "About trusting me—was it true, Chak?"

The deep brown eyes opened. "Tom…"

"Chak, tell me this, was I really the biggest fucking fool in the galaxy?" Tom felt his throat closing. "Is it true that I had something right in front of me, and I didn't see it? Did I really misunderstand you so… fucking badly?"

Chakotay stared at him, his eyes sparkling and wide. "Tom…"

"Because… because I think I'm in love with you." Tom struggled to get the words out. "Are you listening to me, Chak? I am in love with you." His voice hoarse, he did as he'd planned to do—let it all out in the open. "I… want to be with you. I can't stop thinking about you, Chakotay. I just can't. And I need to know how you feel about that."

Chakotay's expression was tormented. "Oh… Tom."

Still no words. Nothing positive. Nothing hopeful.

"Don't you… have anything at all to say?" he felt his breath stop.

And suddenly, Chakotay was staring deeply into his eyes and hands were reaching out to grab his wrist. "Tom, oh God," he started. "I can't… not right now, I just can't… think about this right now."

"You…" Tom felt the walls closing in on him. "You don't want to…"

"NO!" Chakotay said forcefully and then struggled to lower his volume. "This has nothing—please, Tom…" Chakotay gripped Tom's wrist tightly. "Try to understand. This has NOTHING to do with you or B'Elanna. Nothing."

Tom felt his eyes narrow. "Chak…"

"What I want to say to you…" Chakotay said. "What I sincerely want to say… I can't right now." He grabbed Tom's shoulder. "KNOW THIS: I can't."

And all of a sudden, Tom knew Chakotay was telling the truth. This wasn't about him or B'Elanna. "What in the hell happened?" he asked. He'd seen Chakotay an hour or so ago. What could've happened between then and now?

Chakotay shook his head as he dropped his hands and pulled away. "I can't…"

"Chakotay—"

"I can't…"

"But Chak," Tom reached out and then his eyes widened at the sudden flush on Chakotay's face as the older man jumped up—his face twisted in anger and anguish—and screamed.

"I CAN'T TAKE THIS."

Stunned, Tom watched as the older man bent down and grabbed the stool right next to him, picked it up high in the air and brought it down on the glass table top, shattering it to pieces.

In alarm, Tom too jumped up.

Again, Chakotay raised the stool, "I CAN'T!" and brought it down a second time, this time hitting a chair.

"CHAK!" Tom shouted, feeling his spine turn cold at the display of fury and distress.

"I CAN'T!" Again, Chakotay raised the stool and banged it into a second chair. "I fucking CAN'T!"

"CHAKOTAY!"

* * *

The second shout seemed to rip through Chakotay's haze like a blast of phaser fire.

He froze in mid-movement, and stood there, shaking—as if woken from a nightmare, the stool gripped in his hands, his chest heaving with exertion. He stared at Tom as if seeing him for the first time and felt his face twist in torment. "Please Tom," he said. "Not right now. Don't ask me… any questions."

He heard Tom take a deep breath. "Okay," the younger man said, his voice soft, soothing. "All right." Chakotay saw Tom cautiously reach out, and tried not to jump when he felt the warm hand touch his arm. "Shh. It's all right. I won't ask you anything right now," Tom murmured. "I promise."

He felt overwhelmed by this dichotomy. On one hand was anger raging inside his heart that made him want to pound someone to a pulp and on the other there was the heartrending tenderness in Tom's words that made his breath stick in his throat. Feeling his body slackening, Chakotay slowly let the stool slip out of his hands and fall to the floor.

Tom gripped his arm. "You're coming with me now."

He felt himself tense. "Tom—"

The younger man's fingers linked through his. "I said I wouldn't ask anything. But that doesn't stop me from being worried sick about you."

Chakotay shook his head. "There's no need to…"

"Oh no?" His words dripping with disbelief, Tom moved to stand in front of him and suddenly Chakotay found himself looking into knowing blue eyes. Tom had such beautiful, thoughtful eyes, thought Chakotay, eyes he simply couldn't hide his pain from anymore. As in the Xaoln prison, his desperation found a cohort in Tom's need to care. "Well, I disagree," Tom said, his face resolute. "And don't you dare complain. Come on."

Chakotay's hand was gripped firmly as he was tugged out of the lounge and he found that he couldn't complain, couldn't stop Tom. His mind numb, he felt his chest constricted with pain at the memory of all that Kathryn had said to him, and after his furious eruption of moments ago, he felt depleted, empty.

What did Tom really see in this shell of a man? Why was he being so nice to him? Was it true that Tom _loved_ him? Chakotay felt his insides brim with a fusion of arrant longing and utter anguish. But why would he love him? What was the purpose? What could Chakotay, who wasn't even trusted by his own damn captain, possibly give him in return? Chakotay felt himself stiffen with another wave of anger, as the scurrilous words Kathryn had thrown at him came back to stab him in the heart. It was all bullshit, he thought, such unbelievable crap. Why had she said all that to him? Where had he stumbled, what mistake had he made?

Then they were in the turbolift, and within moments, the car had deposited them at Tom's deck and he found himself led out into the corridor and to the front of Tom's door. He watched as Tom keyed in his code and pulled Chakotay inside.

He had a distant memory of being in Tom's quarters once or twice in the past, but the details of the living room and the rooms beyond held no significance to Chakotay right now. Without warning, a wave of exhaustion overtook him and he felt himself staggering back to the wall, as he closed his eyes. He breathed slowly, his stiff body feeling sore.

He felt Tom's hand on his arm again; one warm hand touched his cheek. "Come on, you're going to bed."

With a sigh, he opened his eyes. "Tom…" He wondered if Tom could see the struggle within him through his eyes.

And it seemed that he could.

"You need to rest, Chak," Tom insisted, his own brow creased with concern. "You look like hell…"

And as if that was all the declaration needed, Tom took his hand and guided him into the bedroom—his manner almost clinical. Chakotay was led to the side of the bed and then Tom turned towards him. "Take off your shirt." Chakotay stared blankly at him as if he couldn't understand the language being spoken, and then he felt the gentle tug as his shirttails were pulled out of his trousers. "Here, let me help you."

Within moments, he was stripped to the waist and deposited on top of the bed. He stumbled between the sheets, barely noticing the hardness of the mattress and sank down into the pillows, closing his eyes. Tom was right, he sighed. He was absolutely exhausted. Sleep would be bitter but welcome.

He stirred when he felt the sheets pulled down to his waist but it was the sensation of something warm and silky dribbling down his back which made him want to sit up.

"What the hell…" He tried to look back.

"It's just oil, Chak." He felt gentle hands push him down again. "I'm gonna give you a little massage."

"But Tom…"

"You NEED it…"

And the pads of the warm fingers were tracing the tense tissues of his back, the callused thumbs swiping down his shoulder blades, and he felt his face sink further into the pillows. Oh God, yes, it did feel so good.

But then he felt Tom stop. "SHIT. What's _this_, Chakotay?"

"What?" he murmured in the pillow.

"There's… there's a deep scratch on your left arm." Tom's voice was shaking.  
"And it's BLEEDING."

"Fuck," Chakotay muttered as he felt his body tense once more.

"Who did this?"

Chakotay sighed. "You said you weren't going to ask me any questions."

"Dammit." He heard Tom swear and then those fingers were touching Chakotay's hair, slowly running through the short strands, massaging his scalp. Chakotay swallowed his groan as they reached his neck, gently rubbing the sore muscles. "What the hell happened, Chakotay?"

He just sank his face into his arms.

"Yeah, I know…" He heard Tom mutter, almost bitterly. "I can't ask." There was a pause and then he said. "Here… let me clean this at least."

And those were the only words Tom spoke for a long time.

The scratch was cleaned and regenerated, and soon Tom returned to the task of giving him a massage.

Chakotay felt the strokes begin from the base of his neck, making him sigh, as Tom's hands moved along both sides of his spine. With gentle pressure and constant linear motion, the hands rubbed down his length and then up the sides of his back. Chakotay felt the lightly scented oil spread over his back, rubbed into his tense muscles, as he felt himself unwind like never before. There was nothing overt in Tom's touch, just a gentle stroking of strong hands over stiff muscles—a friend helping another relax, helping him let everything go.

And strangely, in this moment—lying in Tom's bed, breathing deep the familiar masculine scent permeating the sheets and pillows—he could almost let everything go. As if they belonged in another time, in another universe, he could even put Kathryn's words out of his mind. Feeling Tom's hands on his body, those events could be ignored for a short while. For tonight.

He heard himself sigh as the strokes became gentler, felt his eyelids fluttering as a euphoric lethargy filled his bones.

"Better?" Tom whispered in his ear, his hands on Chakotay's shoulder.

"Mmm…" he murmured.

That seemed to be answer enough, for he felt Tom climb in behind him and sighed as he was pulled back into the strong—still fully-clothed—body. The sheets were pulled around them, and he felt Tom spoon behind him, his lean arms wrapping around Chakotay's chest.

"Thank you…" Chakotay mumbled as he felt blessed—not bitter—sleep approaching fast.

Tom's warm breath tickled the back of his neck, as a soft kiss was placed on his skin. "You're welcome…"

And then he was asleep.

* * *

Her face calm and her breathing much under control now, Kathryn Janeway walked out into her living room and approached the large viewport.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a green light blinking on her computer console. A message was waiting for her. She frowned. She didn't have time to waste on answering messages right now. Instead, she focused on the ships docked into the station, and as expected, didn't find the black royal vessel that belonged to Kel'kar'vheel there. As the ministers she'd spoken to had told her, the Chieftain was no longer on the station. He was meeting with the System Kings on Asteroid Cluster 5 in the Deb'rar sector.

That was where she would be looking for him.

Her hands on her hips, she stood back and pondered her situation.

Her years long command experience had taught her many things. One was the decree that you should never trust anyone blindly in your professional life. The only person you could truly rely on was yourself. As a captain, your own judgment and abilities were more important than anyone else's opinion. A captain—as a rule—always stood alone.

Her six years in the Delta Quadrant had shown her how true those words had been. Especially in her unique situation where she'd been with a crew that was comprised either of freshly minted Starfleet ensigns or hardened and ruthless Maquis criminals.

She knew the dangers she worked with, knew anything could go wrong at anytime and that it was important to be prepared for any untoward incidents.

The wayward First Officer, for example, could go berserk due to some hidden mental deformities. After all, she had seen signs of it within months of their being in the Delta Quadrant. How could she forget the time Chakotay had stolen a shuttle to go after Seska because she had supposedly humiliated him in front of the whole crew? Or the time he'd let himself get captured and brainwashed by the Vori, creating a diplomatic incident of calamitous proportions with their kind Kradin hosts. Or the incident with the Mars orbiter when he had slovenly put the lives of his _entire_ away team at risk by stranding them within the eclipse.

All of the above incidents could undoubtedly be explained by the recent episode in chaotic space, when medical evidence of Chakotay's true mental illness had finally been laid bare. That supposedly 'dormant' crazy gene—that had nearly driven him out of his mind, when due to his ineffectiveness he had almost caused Voyager's destruction.

This was the reason why Kathryn had made special arrangements to counter the effect of any unforeseen circumstances. From the time she'd joined Starfleet, she had always been cautious about the people she found herself surrounded by. And the incidents of the last few days —though heartbreakingly painful— had proven all her suspicions of years ago.

Chakotay's insolent actions had told her only one thing: Voyager's Maquis crew was irredeemable. Obviously, no amount of leniency and positive experience could housetrain rabid animals.

She turned from the window and again the blinking light caught her attention. What could it be? She hated leaving her work unfinished—another lesson taught by her command experience. Deciding it couldn't take more than a few minutes, she sat down on the chair and clicked the console.

Her eyes widened.

It was a datastream from Starfleet. God, she'd completely forgotten that they had in fact downloaded the latest one a few days ago. Seven must've realized how busy she was and had sent her messages directly to her own console. Kathryn skimmed the long list of messages and suddenly her eyes caught one name.

Admiral Houston.

She frowned. This was a name she hadn't heard in decades. Her heart suddenly beating very fast, she hastily opened the message and started to read.

By the time she was halfway through, dismay had replaced the speculation in her mind and Kathryn Janeway had simply forgotten how to breathe.

**Continued in Chap 7  
**


	8. Chapter 7

**Absolute Power, Chapter 7**

**CATACLYSM**

The first explosion rocked Voyager at 0745 hours ship time.

Chakotay was in his office at that time, going through systems maintenance reports. He'd arrived there early, quietly slipping out of Tom's quarters while the younger man was still asleep. Although his mind was still troubled by the recent turn of events, he'd nonetheless gotten a much needed physical and mental rest last night and upon waking up had vowed to keep Janeway's harangue out of his mind by concentrating on catching up on work instead.

Such designs, however, as proved soon, were usually short-lived.

When the suddenly flickering lights and the strange vibration in the deck diverted his mind from his task, Chakotay had tried to contact the Bridge and found the comm system down. Perturbed, he then attempted to get out of his office, and found himself locked in—the door controls not responding.

Thus, when the first blast nearly threw him off his feet, Chakotay had been fiddling with the manual controls, trying to push open the doors. The levers were jammed, however, and try as he might he could only manage to open a narrow crack.

The explosion though threw him into a frenzy and thinking Voyager was under attack he desperately looked around his office, frantic to grab whatever he could to open the door. His eyes fell on the ceremonial shield on his wall and he hastily yanked off one of the tongs adorned over it and used that to wedge open the door.

As he stumbled out of his office, there was another explosion—a massive one this time—and the whole ship rocked, dislodging Chakotay's footing as he went face first into the wall. The lights dimmed, flickered, and then came back on partially. He lay on the quaking deck for a second, dazed, and then used the walls to climb to his feet and rushed down the corridor towards the Bridge.

All the access-ways were obstructed, the voice interface down, and it was the same metal tong that helped him wedge open jammed doors—as he finally broke his way into the pandemonium that was Voyager's Bridge.

"Commander…"

Chakotay heard Harry acknowledge his entry, as he took in his surroundings. The viewscreen was offline. The dimmed hue of the red alert filled all corners of Voyager's command station and Chakotay saw Tuvok was in charge, sitting in the command chair. Janeway was nowhere to be seen.

Tom was missing too.

"Tuvok, status!" Chakotay demanded as he made his way towards his chair. There was another lurch as the ship shuddered and he had to grab the walls to keep from falling.

"The station's docking clamps have released us due to a power surge in our primary relays, Commander, Tuvok said, vacating the seat for him as Chakotay reached his side. It didn't matter if Chakotay was out of uniform or supposedly off-duty right now. He knew Tuvok accepted the chain of command and adhered to it strictly. "All systems have been locked out of command control."

"How?" Chakotay logged into his command console.

"This occurred when we tried to stop an unauthorized launch in Shuttlebay two."

Chakotay looked up at the Vulcan. "Who?"

Black impassive eyes looked into his. "Captain Janeway in the Delta Flyer."

For a second, Chakotay's mind went blank. "The captain?" He blinked as his thoughts went to their encounter from last night, and to the words she'd said to him.

_You will regret this._

The words had sounded utterly ridiculous then but in the dark light of the red alert they had a strange sinister tint to them. For reasons he couldn't comprehend, Chakotay felt his spine turn cold. Why was she doing this? Had something gone wrong after he'd left her in the observation lounge?

He frowned. But, no, that couldn't be possible. What she had said to him had been between the two of them. She would never let Voyager get in any kind of danger. She loved the ship more than life itself.

"Can we tractor her?" he asked Tuvok, shaking himself out of these distractions.

"We tried to. All systems seized up and we were locked out of all communication portals."

Chakotay's fingers automatically punched in queries to verify the data. Tuvok was right. Janeway had used some kind of asymmetric encryption to obstruct all major systems and block the access control. Chakotay could see the effect of Tuvok's attempts to sneak in through his security back doors. He frowned. He had to stop this from getting worse. Didn't Tuvok know the enciphering process was getting more and more impenetrable with each attempt he made?

Another big jolt threw Chakotay out of his thoughts. A console erupted into sparks in one corner of the Bridge. The lights went off for a second and then came back, dimmer this time.

"There has been an explosion in Engineering," Tuvok stated. "There is a warp core overload in progress. I cannot contact them. The comm system is still down."

That made the decision for Chakotay.

All at once, all his inner contemplation was put aside as he dived heedlessly into the circumstances at hand. Crisis codes he had programmed on his very first night on Voyager and committed to his memory six years ago were entered into his command account and as their decryption bots pierced into the recently created ciphertext, suddenly the algorithms Janeway had used were laid bare.

A yellow light appeared at the corner of his console, telling him partial communication was restored and from the corner of his eye he saw Tuvok look at him with a start. But there was no time to take account of that.

"Chakotay to Engineering," he called.

"What the HELL is going on, Chakotay?" B'Elanna's static-infested voice broke through.

"B'Elanna, eject the core. NOW."

"I AM TRYING TO DO THAT. But the constrictor fields have breaches and I am trying to—"

The sound of another explosion interrupted her report and Chakotay felt dread fill his bones.

"B'ELANNA!"

He punched at the controls and saw the status report coming. There had been another explosion in Engineering and even if his program was in place and making its way through all the encrypted data, it couldn't help Engineering if their receiving stations were offline. "DAMMIT!" He slammed his hands on the seat rest.

"Commander," Tuvok had gotten back to his Tactical station. "The Delta Flyer fired at a Zokaa'rian vessel. It's under attack from a large contingent."

He stared at Tuvok. "What the hell is she DOING?"

Suddenly he knew what _he_ had to do.

He jumped up and ran to the security locker on the Bridge. He yanked open the panel and armed himself, just as a fourth explosion rocked the ship. Chakotay gripped the wall he was standing next to.

"The warp core has been ejected." Tuvok reported. "However, there was an explosion in the vicinity of the plasma injectors."

"Deploy emergency teams!" Chakotay instructed.

"Fire hazard on Deck 6, section 23," Harry said, his voice anxious. "There are reports of crewmembers locked inside their quarters. The fire-extinguishing system is working."

Deck 6. Chakotay felt his heart stop. Tom's quarters were on Deck 6.

However, before full-blown panic could overwhelm him, the sound of Tom's voice breathed life into his suddenly closing throat.

"Paris to the Bridge."

"Tom, where are you?" The question was automatic.

"Chakotay?" There was surprise in his voice. "What the hell are you…?"

Chakotay interrupted him, relieved to know the man was in one piece. "Tom, I need you to get to Engineering… and help B'Elanna stabilize the situation there." He made his way up to the MSD station next to the turbolift. "Get breathing masks from the emergency supplies." He clicked on the console. "The turbolifts are offline. Use the Jeffries tubes."

"Chakotay…"

"That's an ORDER, Ensign."

There was a barely imperceptible pause and then he heard the younger man respond, "Yes, sir."

Chakotay turned to Tuvok as he stepped behind the Tactical station and with a look into the Vulcan's eyes, entered numbers into the console. "Tuvok, I am giving you access to some encrypted codes. You can use them to remove the lockout commands from all systems, one by one. Get Ayala to give you the rest of them. Stabilize the ship, get that fire under control. I'm going after Janeway."

There was a moment's silence during which Chakotay knew Tuvok tried to digest the information. He hoped to hell the Vulcan wouldn't question the veracity of Chakotay's 'codes' for now, or the fact that Ayala—a former Maquis, who was merely a junior officer on his security team—obviously had access to codes that could circumvent the highest level commands on Voyager. All that mattered was that said codes worked, dammit, Chakotay thought.

And then logic prevailed and Tuvok looked at him—questions simmering in the black eyes but pushed back for now. "We've got partial sensors back, Commander." Chakotay felt himself breathe. "However, there is a forcefield around both the shuttlebays which I am having trouble disengaging. How do you intend to go after the captain?"

He didn't even have to think. The decision was already made.

"The Aeroshuttle. There's no dampening field there," he replied as he turned to Ops. "Can you access the transporters, Harry?"

Kim's fingers danced on the console. "Yes, sir."

He looked into the young man's eyes. "Energize."

Within seconds, he was inside the craft that had initially been intended as the captain's yacht but which had rarely been used in the last six years. Janeway was not the kind to go hopping into her specialized shuttle to explore intriguing spatial phenomena. When she wanted to go exploring, she usually took the whole ship along.

Chakotay slid into the pilot's chair and fired the launching mechanism, watching as the red blinking lights in the surrounding bay came on.

The viewer came online and as he adjusted its positioning, he saw what seemed like chaos in the vicinity of the Zokaa'rian station. Several ships surrounded the station, piercing emergency lighting blazed along its perimeter. He rechecked the sensor data and frowned. There were clear weapons signatures registering on long range sensors: Starfleet and Zokaa'rian. What the hell was she _doing_? Chakotay felt trepidation fill him.

"Structural integrity field compensating for Aeroshuttle deployment." He heard Harry on the comm as he charged the maneuvering thrusters. With a slight lurch, the docking latches retaining the shuttle retracted and he guided the vessel down in its vertical position from below the saucer section at Voyager's belly.

As he moved away from Voyager and the station, he saw three Zokaa'rian vessels surround him. He could guess their intent as he checked the sensors again. The Delta Flyer was getting quite a beating. Janeway was fighting back as hard as she could but if things continued at that rate, she wouldn't survive. And she wouldn't have anyone but herself to blame.

As he geared up to evade the Zokaa'rian vessels, he received a hail from the lead ship. He answered immediately.

It was Resh'lon.

"Great Overseer," Chakotay spoke first, looking into the Zokaa'rian's eyes. "You must stop all these ships from firing on our vessel."

"_First One_," the Royal frowned, his dark eyes burning with rage. "What is your captain doing? She has attacked five Zokaa'rian vessels, injured many of our people. We have no clue about…"

"I don't have any clues either," Chakotay interrupted him. "That is why I must get her back alive. She must answer why she just tried to destroy her own ship."

The Zokaa'rian stared at him, looking a bit startled. And then he looked to his right and Chakotay saw him verify what he was saying. There was an exchange between him and a subordinate during which Chakotay felt his agitation rise. They had no time for this.

"Resh'lon," he called out, "I urge you to give me just one chance." The Zokaa'rian looked back at him, and the expression on his face had thawed slightly. "Please, let me go after her. Ask your people not to fire on me while I attempt to stop her."

For a moment, the Zokaa'rian looked at him, his face still and then sighed. "Very well. We owe you that much."

Chakotay breathed. "Thank you."

That obstacle out of his way for now, he centered his focus entirely on his task. He had to get to Janeway before she was killed. He had to get to her because he wanted to know what the fuck had gone wrong with her.

His hands on the thrusters, he fired the impulse engines and swinging the Aeroshuttle around, rushed after the Delta Flyer. He looked at the navigation sensors and saw that Janeway was headed towards the asteroid settlements in the Deb'rar sector, which according to the Zokaa'rian starcharts contained high diplomatic consulates in the system. She had a few minutes head start and the Flyer's propulsion systems were faster and more efficient than the Aeroshuttle's, but after her first attack, she'd been facing a continuous opposition from the Zokaa'rian warrior ships and that had slowed her down.

Keeping his eyes on the Flyer's warp trail, Chakotay took the Aeroshuttle to warp. It took him less than a minute to locate the Flyer near the Deb'rar asteroid belt and what he found did not placate him.

The Flyer was surrounded by six Zokaa'rian vessels and was definitely in a bad shape. Structural integrity field fluctuating, shields damaged, warp drive offline, transporters down—he quickly scanned the list. Even some of the Zokaa'rian ships showed signs of damage but what really troubled Chakotay was the damage some of the asteroid settlements seemed to have had sustained. He checked his sensors. Yes, definitely Starfleet weapons signatures. His teeth gritting, he hailed Janeway.

"Kathryn, STOP what you're doing," he yelled. "Have you lost your MIND?"

Her response was immediate. Instead of answering his hail, he watched as she turned the Flyer around and fired phasers at him. His eyes on the sensors and hands on thrusters, he swiftly shifted the Aeroshuttle out of the line of fire and watched the Zokaa'rian ships quietly slipping away.

Must've received Resh'lon's orders, he thought and silently thanked the Zokaa'rian Royal.

But the Flyer was still not moving away from the settlement and Chakotay winced as Janeway again fired at the settlement. He watched one of the Zokaa'rian ships move to take an offensive position and decided to prove his intentions to them.

With a muttered curse, he fired one controlled discharge at the Flyer's weapons array, hitting its phaser bank—determined to put her out of commission. The hit wasn't as accurate as he would've liked it to be and the Flyer again turned and fired at him. As he tried to swing the Aeroshuttle away, he was hit and the Aeroshuttle lurched violently as the Flyer's phaser beam hit its starboard nacelle. Sparks flew from his console and for a moment he was blinded as he tried to save his face.

"Warning, structural integrity field fluctuating," the computer announced. "Shields down to forty percent."

As he rerouted power to the damaged systems, another phaser beam hit the Aeroshuttle and the small craft trembled as more consoles blew and smoke filled the cockpit. He held his breath as he pressed down on the thruster controls and swung the Aeroshuttle down and out of harm's way.

Anger filled his bones. She wanted to _kill_ him.

Chakotay turned the Aeroshuttle around and saw her going for the settlement again and this time he knew he had to stop her. His hands on weapons controls, he fired long sustained beams at the Flyer's weapons array and its nacelles and this time the hits were direct. He watched the Flyer lurch violently as the sensors showed shields and structural integrity field failure. He jumped up and ran to the transporter controls in the rear section, just as the computer announced Auto-Destruct activation on the Flyer.

Auto-Destruct? She really was nuts if she thought he was going to let her escape like _that_, Chakotay thought as he locked onto Janeway's signals. As it turned out, it was only a matter of seconds. He pressed the controls and beamed her onboard just as the Aeroshuttle shook from the shockwaves caused by the Flyer's destruction that threw him off his feet.

For a few seconds, there was nothing but a jangle of incessant noise as conduits blew all around him and the Aeroshuttle lurched from side to side while he lay on the floor and tried to get his breath back.

And then as things quieted down, he felt movement in the aft compartment. His hands tightened on his phaser just as a weapons discharge hit the wall behind him.

"YOU SONOFABITCH!" Kathryn Janeway shrieked as she took aim at him.

Cursing, Chakotay rolled away from his position and felt the heat of the burning beam blast near his backside just as he moved behind the Tactical station.

"KATHRYN, STOP THIS!" he yelled.

"I TOLD you I'd make you PAY, didn't I?" she screamed as she fired again, the energy beams hitting the bulkhead next to him, the computer terminal behind him, and he ducked from the flying sparks.

"STOP, GODDAMMIT!" he yelled but she wasn't listening.

"I TOLD YOU!" He heard her scream again, her voice incensed, as he adjusted the setting on his weapon. "But you didn't listen. You had to go and slut around behind my back. I gave you my trust but you fucked another man."

He heard the voice coming closer and taking a deep breath crawled out of his hideaway from the other side. He could see the cockpit from here. He aimed and fired at a bulkhead and then without waiting jumped up and saw Kathryn standing in front of him. As he had expected, her attention had been diverted towards the hit bulkhead. But she hadn't turned around and he watched as her face contorted with hate and with a growl she raised her phaser to fire at him again. But he was already pointing the phaser at her and before she could aim, he fired at her point blank in the chest and watched as she went down like a sack.

He gripped the console next to him to steady himself. She had been taken down. The situation had been contained. He shuffled near his fallen captain and checked her pulse. It was slow but steady. His phaser had after all only been set on stun.

Chakotay picked up her fallen weapon and checked its setting. Vaporize. Great, he felt his face tighten.

The computer console in the cockpit was beeping and he knew it was the Zokaa'rians—most probably Resh'lon—hailing to check on his status. But he had to secure Janeway first. He picked up her limp body in his arms and took her into the Aeroshuttle's brig where he secured her hands with a pair of strong handcuffs. He activated the forcefield before walking back into the cockpit.

He was _never_ again taking any chances with Janeway.

He answered Resh'lon's hail and told him he was alive and that no, he didn't need any help getting back to Voyager. His warp drive was offline but the impulse engines were working. It was only a short trip.

His mind staggering under the turbulence filling his thoughts, Chakotay breathed to calm his nerves as he engaged the impulse engines and finally headed back to Voyager.

* * *

With a growl, B'Elanna Torres punched her console and shut off the data display.

If she saw another Zokaa'rian guard enter Engineering, she swore she was going to phaser someone. Didn't they know her crew was still working on stabilizing the damaged systems? What business did they have poking their pointy long noses into her affairs when they knew Voyager had sustained such intensive damage?

She sighed. The warp core had finally been retrieved, after they had gone through what had felt like insurmountable problems. The Flyer was destroyed. The Aeroshuttle was now considered crucial evidence in the whole disastrous affair and thus could not be touched. The two other shuttles, which were operable, had towing emitters that were offline. When the towing emitters were fixed, it turned out that their realignment fields could not be adjusted. When the realignment fields were worked on, the Zokaa'rian authorities turned up saying they wanted to inspect the precise safety procedures they were to follow in order to get the warp core back to Voyager in one piece. All that work had taken hours of arduous, back breaking maneuvering. And when it was over, the damned Guard Patrol had come knocking on their doors, asking to be let into their fold once more.

B'Elanna saw the medical personnel take the last of the bodies out of Engineering and closed her eyes, feeling her throat suddenly tighten at the onslaught of emotions.

Such carnage, she gnashed her teeth, and for what? Because Janeway had gone nuts? Fuck this. They should've asked her four days back and she would've told them Janeway was going bonkers then.

She clutched the plasma torch tightly in her hand and then suddenly turned and banged it to the console, her wrath overwhelming her, lifted it and banged it again, her spine stiffening as her body shook in anger and a cry escaped her throat. She again raised the torch in the air, her face contorted with pain, brought it down to strike the terminal and suddenly her shoulders were seized from behind—strong hands halting her progress. She spun around to find herself in Chakotay's arms, his hands holding hers captive.

She looked up into his face and found it tight with grief, searched his eyes and saw them shimmering with anger.

"WHY?" she asked, and her voice sounded strange to her ears—ragged, uneven.

"I don't _know_, B'Elanna!" He stated each word precisely. "The Doctor is checking her out."

"The Doctor," B'Elanna snorted, pulling her hands out of his grip. "She deserves to be thrown into the fucking WARP CORE."

"Not until we know why she did all this." He stared straight into her eyes, his voice hard as steel, and suddenly she knew he meant it. His anger was as deep, as smoldering and real as hers.

"Fifteen people, Chakotay." She bit her lips and felt her throat tighten again. "We lost fifteen _good_ people, all of them our friends today because of her."

He sighed, his brow wrinkling, as he raised one shaking hand to run it through his hair. "I know."

Of course he knew. She'd watched from her station as he'd gone and checked on all the dead, on all the injured—one by one. After the Maquis, she had thought she would never again see that sight, the sight of Chakotay visiting the dead and consoling the injured like that. Yes, they'd sustained casualties on Voyager before but never in such large numbers and never at any one time. She looked at the shadows under his eyes, at the lines on his face, and wrapped her arms around her body. It had been the same in the Maquis. He always forgot himself for his crew. Always.

She saw the main doors open to admit Tuvok and the grim expression the Chief of Security's face told her they had even more problems staring them in the face than before. She felt Chakotay squeeze her shoulder.

"I am counting on your clarity of mind, B'Elanna." He looked into her eyes. "I know we have a lot of grieving to do but I need your strength and support as a senior officer right now."

B'Elanna saw the apprehension in his eyes and for a second wondered if he had spoken at all with Tom today. She knew Tom had been working on the injured in the upper level of Engineering after she'd told him to lay off her engines and go cool his heels. He'd not left Engineering since he'd arrived here this morning and it wasn't likely he was going to anytime soon. She also knew he'd gone into a kind of silent frenzied fit when he'd found Chakotay had gone after Janeway by himself, but he hadn't had the chance to do much else about it at that point. Everything had been blowing up around them at the time, and Tom's concern for Chakotay had to take a back seat in the circumstances.

And looking at Chakotay, she suddenly knew that soundless rage existed within him too. But that he couldn't think about Tom right now, couldn't afford to worry about anything other than Voyager. That was why he was asking for her word. He needed her assurance that she would be there, that she would be strong, that she would not go into conniptions the next time things happened which she didn't approve.

She looked up into his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'll do my best, Chakotay," she said. "You have my word."

The deep brown eyes stared into hers for a few moments and then Chakotay—as if he was content for now at whatever he saw in them—nodded and turned around. B'Elanna watched him walk over to Tuvok and saw the Vulcan speak to him for a few minutes—obviously giving him a report of some kind—and then the two currently senior most officers on Voyager walked out of Engineering.

* * *

As Tuvok had hypothesized, it had been the incident with the Equinox that had turned the tide for Commander Chakotay as well, even if their journeys towards their objectives had taken different paths.

"I realized the ineffectiveness of the protocols I'd designed all those years ago when she was able to block my access to all command systems during that incident." Chakotay looked at Tuvok. "She was unaware of the codes I'd put in place but she had still used cryptographic Borg algorithms to counter any possible intrusions. My programs remained untouched but they couldn't do the intended job because of the blocking system in place."

"And therefore, when that crisis was over, and your command lockout removed, you redesigned your encryptions to overcome such hindrances in the future."

"As a safety mechanism to avoid such events again, yes."

That was the excuse Tuvok had given himself too. Before Equinox, he'd never doubted Captain Janeway's sense of reason. However, the aftermath of that had forced him to consider the issue of Voyager's safety in the face of the captain's infrequent bouts of obstinacy.

But there were still questions lingering in his mind. Voyager's safety had been at stake. It seemed they had played with fire for too long. His brow furrowed, he turned to the First Officer.

"However…" He looked into Chakotay's eyes. "Before those Borg algorithms were put in place, had you chosen to take the measures, the command system would've been vulnerable to any command override by yourself and your trusted Maquis comrades."

The First Officer's eyes locked onto his, his disposition firm. "Only _one_ comrade. And you're forgetting, Tuvok, no such measures were ever taken."

"Curious." Tuvok frowned. "You placed the security of the entire ship in the hands of a noncommissioned officer who had previously been a wanted Starfleet felon."

"Who could I trust after you turned out to be a spy, Tuvok?" There was a bitter twist to Chakotay's mouth and for a second he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. And then he opened them again. "Don't forget, I was a felon too. A wanted Maquis criminal. But I was also the newly designated First Officer on this ship and I had the safety of my crew to worry about."

But Chakotay had been reinstated as a Commander, and given tremendous responsibilities that he had evidently been deemed worthy of. It was illogical to enforce measures that could've proven dangerous for the ship he was responsible for.

"Mr. Ayala was hardly the individual to place such intricate safety proceedings…"

"Mr. Ayala is now DEAD!" Chakotay's eyes shone with renewed anger as his voice hardened. In those eyes Tuvok also saw a hint of pain, which the commander had undoubtedly been trying to hide all this time to no avail. "And he died a loyal man who served this ship till his last breath," Chakotay said. "Now, I don't care if you refuse to give him proper credit, Tuvok, even though I thought he was a valued member of your team. This isn't the time to argue about security codes hacked or blocked or implemented. Those codes saved Voyager today and you know that."

For a moment, Tuvok quietly contemplated the commander. It had not been his intention to revive Chakotay's grief. But it appeared in his endeavor to uncover the truth about the subterfuge—and it was a subterfuge, however helpful it may have turned out to be—he'd crossed the line. He couldn't blame Chakotay for his pain, for it was a human reaction. The commander's loss—Voyager's loss—was great. Mr. Ayala was only one of his shipmates who had lost their lives today. There were eight other Maquis as well as six Starfleet personnel who had also been killed in the explosions.

He looked into Voyager's First Officer's eyes. "It would be illogical to deny the unprecedented assistance your programming expertise rendered today, Commander." He raised one brow. "As it would be to question Mr. Ayala's loyalty to Voyager and to your own authority from the time he was in the Maquis."

As it was, it had only been the codes Chakotay had given him that had been at his disposal during the crisis. He had failed to raise Mr. Ayala for the remaining codes before the security officer had perished.

The commander stared into his eyes, his gaze unwavering. And then the hard glint in them softened as he sighed. "If I didn't trust you now to save Voyager, Tuvok, I wouldn't have left those codes in your hands today."

A show of faith. He was being offered an olive branch and Tuvok knew it was only logical to accept it. In Captain Janeway's current condition, the crew needed Chakotay's leadership capabilities.

He tilted his head. "Your… change of opinion is appreciated, Commander."

Chakotay looked down for a second, breathing deep, and then he looked back into Tuvok's eyes. "And I never got a chance to say this before but I wanted to thank you for coming after Tom and I." There was a slight hint of apprehension in those eyes and Tuvok wondered at its cause. "Down on the planet. For rescuing us."

He frowned. "I was merely doing my duty as a fellow officer."

"It is nonetheless appreciated," Chakotay replied, his demeanor enigmatic, and then he turned to his console, effectively signaling the change of topic. He picked up the padd lying on top of the console. "Now, let's talk about the other pressing matters at hand. Damage status?"

With a slight mental shake, Tuvok turned the direction of his thoughts to focus on their current predicament. "Engineering has the most extensive structural damage. The plasma injectors distribution system will have to be rebuilt from scratch. The warp manifolds have to be repaired as the blast took away half the relays. The damage done to the living quarters during the spread of the fire was also severe. That includes various quarters on decks six, nine, and eleven."

Chakotay frowned in concentration. "Mostly lower decks. Where the majority of the Maquis lived."

"And quite a few Starfleet personnel as well."

"Such devastation." A wave of distaste passed the First Officer's face and then he turned to Tuvok. "Any update from the Doctor?"

"There are some crewmembers he has kept under observation for a few hours but none of them are in critical condition."

Chakotay swiftly assimilated this then asked, "And Janeway?"

"The Doctor is keeping her in Sickbay until she wakes up," Tuvok replied. "He hasn't found anything unusual in his neural scans, nothing anomalous which could provide any clarification about why she went out of control. There were no drugs in her blood stream, no abnormal compounds in her system. Perhaps questioning her could lead to some answers."

"I wouldn't put too much faith in that, Tuvok," Chakotay said, a mysterious expression crossing his features for a moment—as if he knew things others didn't—and then he shrugged. "Are you sure its wise to keep her in Sickbay? We know what she's capable of. If she gains access to any systems…"

Tuvok interrupted him. "We have an armed security detail to make sure nothing untoward happens when she wakes up. I can assure you, Commander, after what occurred today, none of them would show any kind of complacency in their duties to keep guard on her. And indeed, after I am through with questioning her, I intend to move her to the Brig. There is no doubt she has committed multiple offenses, has broken numerous regulations and bylaws within the Federation and Starfleet charter."

Chakotay stared at him for a second and then nodded. "I'll leave the matter of keeping Janeway under guard in your hands, Tuvok. Now, what's the latest on the Zokaa'rian front?"

"Captain Janeway was able to incur remarkable damage to several of their ships and asteroid settlements, most notably the Chieftain's Royal Vessel and the Zonal Command Center of the System Central committee, where you were finally able to stop her. There are several Zokaa'rians and Kel'zians injured but no fatalities were reported."

"Thank God for that." Chakotay sighed as he scrolled through the data on his padd, his brows creasing as he read from the instrument. "The structural damage is bad enough as it is."

"I've been contacted by the Zokaa'rian High Council several times," Tuvok said. "While they have been leaving us alone in the light of the damage Voyager suffered, they're impatient to question the command team members—namely yourself and I—as soon as possible."

The commander nodded. "Well, we can't avoid them for too long. Contact the Great Overseer's office and see if we can…"

"Bridge to Commander Chakotay," Ensign Kim interrupted him.

Chakotay replied, "Go ahead, Harry."

"Commander, the Guard Patrol high commander is hailing us. They are asking to be…" Ensign Kim paused, his voice unsure. "Wait, there was a hail coming from the Great Overseer's vessel as well. But it seems the Guard Patrol vessel cut it off."

Chakotay looked at Tuvok with a frown. "Cut if off? How?"

"All our datalinks to the station and to Kel'nohr's governing bodies have been blocked," Mr. Kim stated. "There's a dampening field around the deflector grid affecting all our communication systems."

This brought Chakotay to his full height. He nodded to Tuvok as he turned to his office door. "I'm on my way."

Harry continued reporting. "They've locked on to us with a tractor beam. We can't…" The commlink cut off as a shudder went through the ship and Tuvok knew that was evidence of the towing beam.

"Tuvok…" Chakotay started to say something just as the whine of the Zokaa'rian Transporter sounded and five Zokaa'rians wearing Guard Patrol uniforms beamed inside the First Officer's quarters.

An official who appeared to be the ranking officer stepped forward and before Tuvok or Chakotay could reach for their phasers, all the guards pointed their weapons at the two of them. "There's no need for you to go to your Bridge, Commander Chakotay. We're here to get you ourselves."

"What is the meaning of this?" Commander Chakotay demanded. "What have you done to our ship?"

"Your vessel has been boarded and is now under our control," the Zokaa'rian calmly replied. "You will accompany us down to the High Council's Headquarters and face charges." He pointed toward Tuvok. "You may serve as his official counsel."

"Charges?" Chakotay frowned.

Tuvok asked. "May I inquire as to what charges you have placed against my crewmate?"

The Zokaa'rian official looked at Voyager's First Officer. "You've been charged with conspiracy to plot against the Zokaa'r Sovereignty in collaboration with your incarcerated Captain Janeway."

**Continued in Chap 8  
**


	9. Chapter 8

**Absolute Power, Chapter 8**

**THE EVIDENCE**

Resh'lon felt as if everything he had held his utmost faith in was crumbling to pieces around him.

If these had been normal circumstances, he would've found the behavior of the System Kings entirely inconceivable. Their outright dismissal of the possibility of Kel'kar'vheel's misdemeanors, even in the light of the evidence that had been recovered, was baffling to say the least. Their explicit indictment that it had been the female Voyager captain who was categorically responsible for all this madness was nonsensical. Yes, she was responsible for the actions she took—Resh'lon would never deny that, he had witnessed the repercussions of that pandemonium—but to say that it had been her, and the gentle-mannered Chakotay who had been involved in conspiring against the Sovereignty, was blind and foolish. It was unbefitting the wisdom of the Sovereignty's crowned elders.

Or had that wisdom been lost in the midst of this chaos? Had it ever existed in the first place? Had Resh'lon been a fool when he'd taken his oath and given his faith, his loyalty to the Sovereignty?

Moreover, these were not normal circumstances, were they? Nothing that had happened lately was anything that Resh'lon had ever encountered before.

He was offended by how the elders were treating the _First One_. Lining him up to face the Zokaa'r inquiring committees as if he were a criminal, the one at fault. This was a man who had been wronged by his very hosts. In conjunction with certain corrupt citizens of the Sovereignty, he, along with his crewmate, had been abducted and abused by aliens who had penetrated the supposedly protected borders of the Monarchy due to inadequate security procedures.

This was the Sovereignty's fault. It was Resh'lon's fault. If they had taken proper steps, Chakotay and his crewmate would never have suffered the abuse they did. If they had been more alert, the female Voyager captain would never have availed the opportunity to cause the mayhem she had. If they had kept a check on that bigoted Kel'kar'vheel, he would never have exploited these aliens the way he did.

But if the System Kings did not even believe that Kel'kar'vheel was at fault, who could he blame, where was he to go?

One thing was sure: he was not going to abandon these aliens now. He had failed them once; he was not going to fail them a second time. He would do everything in his power to help the _First One_ and his crew.

And if it meant he had to stand next to Chakotay and argue with the System Kings to stop the incarcerated captain and _First One_ from being executed in a Zokaa'rian court of law, then he would do it.

* * *

Chaos and individuality.

Three years on board Voyager and Seven of Nine was still coming to terms with the complexities prevalent within these concepts.

She saw Lieutenant Torres order Crewman Hamilton and Ensign McKenzie to shut up or take the fight out of Engineering and stifled a sigh of frustration.

Crewman Hamilton was an irrational and disorderly individual and his incongruous ravings about Commander Chakotay and Ensign Paris had obviously become disruptive for everyone around him. Ensign McKenzie had apparently taken exception to his remarks about the First Officer and that was where the argument had exacerbated. Keeping all these facts in mind, Seven wasn't sure if merely telling them to take their fight out would solve the problem. They would continue fighting outside as well, and that could further escalate the tense situation.

With that thought in mind, she picked up the hyper-spanner she had been working on the binary relays with, and followed Lieutenant Torres to the office area on the side of the warp core.

She could see the Chief Engineer was still angry at the argument she had just broken up, her stance rigid as she worked at her console. Considering the complex relationship she shared with Ensign Paris and Commander Chakotay, Seven could imagine why the lieutenant would find herself distressed at the turn of events.

However, it was time to stem the flow of the dispute at its source.

"Lieutenant," Seven stood straight and began, "I do not believe telling Crewman Hamilton to simply shut up would stop his dissentious behavior from spreading any further."

With a scowl, the half-Klingon looked up at Seven and a scathing glint—which in the last three years, Seven had gotten used to seeing regularly in the lieutenant's eyes—appeared in her eyes.

"Oh, I am sure you would think _that_, Seven," Lieutenant Torres chewed her words, her face screwed with contempt. "After all, all this must be very difficult for you."

Seven raised one brow in query. "What are you talking about?"

"The situation with Janeway, of course," B'Elanna spat. "You were always very close to her, weren't you? I wonder how sorry you are that your mentor went berserk and killed fifteen members of her own damned crew."

Seven stared at the infuriated Chief Engineer and felt a fresh wave of irritation spread through her body.

She knew B'Elanna Torres had never gotten along with her in the past but that gave the engineer no right to misjudge her intentions so completely. As she took a deep breath and attempted to calm her nerves, Seven realized she had to set the record straight once and for all. Especially in the light of all that she'd witnessed in the last few days, realigning her crewmate's misconceptions was an essential task.

She looked into her companion's flaming dark eyes. "It is true that when I was first liberated from the Collective, Captain Janeway was the one I most looked up to for guidance." She saw a look of derision cross the engineer's petite features and pressed on. "In fact, she made sure that I had no reason to go to anyone else if I had a problem. The chain of command, which exists for the rest of the crew, did not exist for me. When I had a question, I was allowed to circumvent the hierarchy this ship normally adheres to and go straight to the captain for clearance."

The Chief Engineer rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks for _enlightening_ us."

Seven ignored the sarcasm. "As strange as it may sound, Captain Janeway, who was so strict on everyone else regarding the following of proper protocols and regulations, encouraged me to disregard the same because she expected me to report only to her."

"And of course, that's how you went all this time." B'Elanna Torres clenched her teeth.

"Most of the time." Seven looked coolly at the lieutenant. "In the beginning, when I was studying the ship's command structure and getting to know the procedures the entire crew followed, I tried to do the same."

"_Really_?" The Chief Engineer sounded bored.

"Captain Janeway wasn't pleased."

"Seven," B'Elanna Torres heaved a staggering sigh. "Is there a POINT to this conversation?"

"In the last two years," Seven continued. "During our private conversations, Captain Janeway stressed on the importance of strictly following all her orders at all instances…"

"Seven!"

"…and at every opportunity that arose…" Seven looked straight into the former Maquis' eyes. "She tried to convince me of the insignificance of Commander Chakotay's authority on this ship."

"WHAT?" Lieutenant Torres' mouth dropped open in shock.

"I found it perplexing for the captain to be trying to persuade me to disregard the First Officer's command disposition. Especially since my research suggested his position as the Executive Officer was of far more importance than she was trying to portray."

The lieutenant had fallen silent as she listened to Seven's monologue with wide eyes.

"For a while I thought it was because Commander Chakotay was a wanted felon in the Alpha Quadrant," Seven said. "I believed it was his status as a Maquis criminal which was the reason behind the captain's distrust of him.

"But everything I observed told me otherwise. Despite the captain's private feelings regarding the commander, I found his own professional and off-duty conduct more than adequate. Even the results of my discreet inquiries amongst the Starfleet crew regarding their opinion of him were surprisingly favorable. His command decisions over the years have been consistently competent, and his behavior with the crew—Maquis and Starfleet alike—has been fair and efficient. And yet, all this time, Captain Janeway did everything to establish the irrelevance of Commander Chakotay's influence in Voyager's everyday life to me."

The Chief Engineer finally found her voice. "Seven, if you disagreed with Janeway's behavior, then why the hell didn't you ever tell her off?"

"I believed it would be prudent to quietly observe the situation," Seven replied and then she frowned. "However, I am curious about one aspect of their relationship."

"What?"

"I was led to believe that Commander Chakotay and Captain Janeway had never been romantically involved."

The lieutenant frowned. "They HADN'T."

Seven slowly nodded. "That was precisely what I thought all this time."

"Well, believe it," Lieutenant Torres snorted. "Nothing has ever happened between them."

However, there was often chaos within the individual mind, Seven thought. Delusions, illusions, misapprehensions, false suppositions. All were part and parcel of being an individual. Seven had learned this the hard way.

"Seven," the lieutenant was staring at her, "where did this come from?"

Seven looked at the Chief Engineer and tried to straighten her own muddled thoughts. "It was not my intention to… eavesdrop on a private conversation, but I was present in Jeffries tubes section alpha 53 above Deck 6 two nights ago at approximately 2033 hours when a discussion of an… intimate nature was taking place between the captain and the commander."

"How intimate?" The lieutenant's tone was apprehensive.

"The captain… seemed distressed at the commander's supposed betrayal of her, since he and Ensign Paris had become intimately involved in the Kel'nohr prison."

Seven saw B'Elanna Torres flush at the mention of the commander and ensign and looked calmly at her.

"Lieutenant, I was present in the Sickbay when the away team was beamed onboard after their rescue. I am perfectly aware of the exact condition the commander and ensign were found in."

Lieutenant Torres swallowed. "What was Janeway saying?"

"She was accusing the commander of breaking his promises of waiting for her," Seven replied. "She felt his actions on the planet, which she felt were despicable, were unbecoming of a Starfleet officer and that he should've done everything to avoid the situation he'd gotten everyone into."

"The situation HE'D gotten everyone into?" the lieutenant cried and then tried to lower her volume. "That's BULLSHIT," she growled. "She was the one who made the decision that got them in the mess in the first place."

Seven raised her chin. "She also implied it was unprofessional and unethical of him to get involved with the man who was his subordinate, and to create problems between him and the person he claims to be his best friend."

The lieutenant's mouth worked for a few seconds and then after a struggle, she reacted with a strangled, "Me?"

Seven pursed her lips, feeling her face tighten. "I don't believe I'd ever seen the captain physically manhandle another individual before."

"WHAT?" Torres stared at her and then huffed, "Seven! Did you report this incident to Tuvok that night?"

Seven shook her head. "Unfortunately not. The captain had moved into the next phase of her plans before I could report anything."

"So why are you telling me all this now?" There was renewed anger in the dark eyes. "The damage is already done. What possible difference could any of this make?"

Seven stared at her, her voice cool. "I am telling you all this because we are in a dangerous situation and more damage will be done if any impending conflict isn't immediately contained. In the past few days, I have observed that you have been somewhat troubled by the situation between Commander Chakotay and Ensign Paris. And while that is something you cannot alleviate at once, it has the potential of passing on to those who work right under you. Those are the few dissentious individuals who have the capacity of creating further discord between crewmembers."

"You're wrong, Seven." The Chief Engineer stared hard at her. "I am not at _all_ troubled by what Chakotay and Tom shared. I wish them all the best."

Seven looked into the lieutenant's eyes. "Then perhaps, you should show everyone that you do in fact wish them all the best by being the friend that Chakotay has always claimed you to be. It may not change the last three years, but it may just make the crew understand the exact danger Chakotay's possible incarceration could put Voyager and its crew into. He needs everyone's support right now, not scurrilous accusations."

The lieutenant's eyes were wide with wonder and as Seven picked up the hyper-spanner and walked back to her previous task, she thought she saw a hint of humility in their simmering depths.

Now, she had to concentrate on helping B'Elanna Torres get Voyager back in shape.

* * *

Impulsive, aggressive, and highly achievement oriented. Explosive speech patterns often accompanied with flaunting gesticulations. Loud, boisterous personality that always strived to achieve more in less time. Invading other people's personal spaces in order to intimidate, persuade, or coerce.

There was no doubt about it.

Captain Kathryn Janeway was a classic Type A Behavior specimen.

As Voyager's Emergency Medical Hologram studied the latest scans the computer had generated of his patient, he realized that even now it was nearly impossible to determine whether it had been the accumulation of stress that had caused her breakdown, or simply the instigation of her latent sociopathic tendencies—lying dormant all these years—which had brought on the collapse.

Hmm. He squinted at the monitor and then scowled. Just as he'd told Commander Tuvok three days ago, there was hardly anything unusual in these scans. The elevated metabolic activity shown in the basal ganglia demonstrated what he'd long ago termed 'normal' for someone of her vociferous personality.

As was often the case with some rare and excessively hyperactive Type A individuals, the colored areas in the brain scans showed a slight chemical imbalance in the circuits that ran between the frontal lobes and the basal ganglia, due to the brain's struggle in coping with repeated stimuli. Since Captain Janeway was a Type A inclining towards a rather acute sociopathic personality structure, it wasn't hard to conclude why her metabolic levels always appeared to be going through the proverbial roof—as opposed to other Type A individuals on the ship.

Thus, over the years when he'd studied her brain scans, even though he knew they'd shown unusually high levels of metabolic activity, he'd not considered the possibility of them being abnormal in _her_ case. After all, Captain Janeway had always been highly animated, exceedingly fervent, particularly garrulous, and full of that intense self-possession that was all her own. She always seemed to be on the run, rushing from one activity to the next, never finding time to relax, always pushing herself to succeed at any cost—facing challenge after challenge, surmounting one conquest after another.

And another. And another.

Now he wondered if he'd neglected to notice the obvious signs of what had undoubtedly turned out to be a severe mental disorder.

As he referred to case studies of other such cases in Voyager's database, he realized that what he'd termed in Kathryn Janeway's case as Type A Behavior leaning towards sociopathic structure could even have been a type of bipolar manic-depressive syndrome.

He felt his frown deepen and pursed his lips in concern.

Her manic episodes could have been the overly keyed up moods she often was discovered in when she had seemed on top of the universe, so utterly sure of herself, and acting like she could conquer anyone or anything. Or they could have been those cold bouts of anger she displayed when any attempts to interfere with her activities or objectives were made by one of the members of her command crew.

She could turn quite hostile and abusive when impeded in any way. She had confined Commander Chakotay once to the brig and once to his quarters because he had disagreed with her actions. She had quite spectacularly thrown Mr. Paris into the brig for one whole month for disobeying her orders. No matter how much Mr. Paris got on his holographic nerves, and despite how much he himself had ragged the lieutenant on his sudden demotion, the EMH did not think such an extreme reaction had been necessary.

Her down times—what surely must have been the depressive episodes, the EMH thought—had been rare but when they had come, they had been profound enough to be noticed by the whole crew. That episode, for example, when she had locked herself into her quarters for a whole month simply because she couldn't bear the thought of facing her crew in the so-called Void should certainly have been noted by him as a blatant example of a severe personality disorder.

But he hadn't noticed anything.

The signs had always been there; had always been existent within her personality. But since Captain Kathryn Janeway always seemed to get the job done—never mind the methods she chose to keep everyone in line—he had ignored them, turned a blind eye to them.

By failing to notice the inconsistencies within Captain Janeway's personality, the EMH had failed his crew. So many precious lives had been lost because of the devastation she had deliberately caused. And now the Zokaa'rians had apprehended Commander Chakotay in the implication of his involvement with Captain Janeway's chaotic plans.

When he thought about it, he realized the Zokaa'rians accusations against the commander were even stranger than him not noticing the psychopathic patterns in Captain Janeway's personality.

How could anyone in their right mind believe the commander to have been involved in conspiring against anyone while in that prison? The neuropharmacological scans he'd run on Ensign Paris and Commander Chakotay after their rescue had shown that both their nervous and endocrine systems had gotten a blow unlike any they'd ever experienced before. Their endorphin levels had skyrocketed dangerously, and their epinephrine infusion was equally exhaustive in their bloodstreams.

Furthermore, Commander Chakotay was the more affected of the two since he was exposed the most to the Xaoln toxins. He had also endured the most attempted mental probing from his captors.

There was no way he could have been in any shape to conspire with anyone on anything whatsoever.

The EMH frowned.

What in Zimmerman's name were the Zokaa'rians thinking?

* * *

"Why the hell won't they give us an update on his status?" Tom Paris bellowed.

Harry stared at his best friend's face as he paced the living room of his quarters and sighed. "Tom, I just spoke with Governor-general Rah'toveem's aide and things are very hectic down there. They're not letting any unauthorized personnel through."

"Unauthorized?" Tom stopped and turned to him in amazement. "I was part of the last away mission, wasn't I? I've been trying to get in touch with Resh'lon and there has been no response and Tuvok…"

"I did get a chance to speak to Tuvok," Harry interrupted him. "And from what he told me they're NOT letting anyone from Voyager get anywhere near Resh'lon. Tuvok knows you've been trying to get in touch with the Great Overseer, Tom." He stared into his friend's agitated blue eyes. "The Zokaa'rians don't like it."

Tom's face twisted in anger. "The Zokaa'rians can go screw themselves. Resh'lon spent the most time overseeing the previous... thwarted mission, he knows Chakotay was not involved in any damn conspiracies."

"That is exactly the problem," Harry stressed. "Don't you get it? They think Resh'lon is too 'close to the outsiders' to maintain any kind of objectivity in this matter…" He saw Tom's mouth open in complaint and pressed on, "AND while you and I may know this to be the bullshit it is, THEY have zeroed in on this thing as the ultimate cause of everything that went wrong."

Tom stared at Harry. "And what about Resh'lon's minister, that… Jess'phan? He worked closely with Tuvok."

Harry shook his head. "He's been blocked too. Tom, they're not letting anyone who had any contact with you guys down there get in touch with us."

"But that's ridiculous." Tom threw up his hands. "How can we defend Chakotay if we aren't allowed to get in touch with anyone who can give us any information about our time on the planet?"

"Tuvok is the only one allowed down there," Harry said. "He is the commander's sole counsel."

"Goddammit, Harry!" Tom huffed, his hands balled into fists and turned around, resuming his pacing.

This didn't look good. Harry felt his brows furrow. B'Elanna had told him Tom had been freaked out about the entire situation from the moment they'd been rescued. Tom had been worried about the situation with Chakotay—admit it, he was worried about his 'relationship' with the First Officer, Harry sighed—and the current circumstances didn't seem to be helping.

And it wasn't just Tom. The whole ship, the entire crew was furious, angry beyond belief at the turn of events. First Captain Janeway went crazy and then their brain-dead hosts came and arrested the First Officer for a conspiracy he couldn't possibly have been involved in because he was being tortured by aliens in a prison cell at the time.

Tuvok was down on the planet with Commander Chakotay and in his absence, Tom was the most senior officer on the Bridge and B'Elanna was the senior officer in the ship's hierarchy. And while B'Elanna was handling things as effectively as she could, diffusing tense situations between crewmembers demanding to find out about their First Officer's predicament, Harry wasn't so sure about Tom's condition.

"Tom," Harry stepped forward, worried about his friend. "You have to relax. You have to take a step back and look at things rationally. You look sick."

"I'm _feeling_ sick, Harry." Tom's breath was ragged. "The last time Chakotay was in the midst of these people, he was abducted by rabid fucking aliens."

Okay, Harry could understand that. But the situation was different now, wasn't it?

"Nothing of that sort is going to happen now," Harry said, hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt. "Tuvok is with him. And the governor-general's aide tells me that all those Xaolns have been thrown into prison."

"But those who conspired with the aliens are still OUT, Harry." Tom ground his teeth. "What if they try to hurt him?"

Harry closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. And then he opened his eyes and stared at his friend. "I think it would be better if you concentrated on being positive right now. The commander needs your positive energies, Tom, not these bleak thoughts."

For a moment, the blond looked at him, his eyes shimmering, and then he took a deep breath. "We have to help him. But how do we do that from Voyager?"

Okay. A new task. Finding a strategy. He could help with that.

"We… try to gather evidence that he is innocent," he said. "That he was a victim of an abduction. That he got hurt. That he couldn't possibly have been involved in conspiring with the captain."

Tom's face was impassive for a while and then his eyes sparkled. He grabbed Harry's elbow and turned to the door. "Let's go."

"Where?"

"To Captain Janeway's quarters," Tom Paris replied. "We're going to find that evidence."

* * *

As a soldier, Chakotay knew how unendurable it was to be put in the line of fire when one didn't want the war to happen in the first place.

Yet, it wasn't the first time he was finding himself caught on the wrong side of the conflict. He'd done his share of fighting for causes that should never have existed had there been any justice in the universe. However, he'd learned long ago that life wasn't fair and one had to fight for their rights, for proving wrong the uninformed, and for keeping their sanities intact.

First, it had been with the Cardassians, then the Vori, and now the Zokaa'rians.

At least, with the Cardassians, he'd made a choice to fight the war, and with the Vori, he'd been brainwashed to do their bidding.

The Zokaa'rian conflict, on the other hand, didn't seem to quantify at _all_.

The only shots he'd fired had been to _end_ the Flyer's disastrous run, dammit. What the hell was he being accused of here? Yes, Janeway had wreaked havoc all along the sector, but there hadn't been any Zokaa'rian or Kel'zian fatalities, and he was willing to compensate for any damage Voyager had caused.

And it wasn't as if the locals here had gone scot-free as far as culpability was concerned. His and Tom's abduction was proof positive of the fact that blame lay on both sides. It was foolish to ignore one and focus on the other.

However, he would've figured out that things were messed up at the highest levels of the Sovereignty's Hierarchy even if Tuvok hadn't made his quick and discreet revelations to him right before they'd been placed in the Accused's Stand.

All he had to do was look at the Royal Box in the High Council Imperial Court of Law in Deb'rar sector, where they were all gathered right now, and see all but a few cast out members of the Sovereignty High Council seated in the enclosures. To his discontent, the Kel'zian Chieftain, Kel'kar'vheel the Eighth—who was not even a member, Chakotay reminded himself—was one of the seated Royals.

Resh'lon of Du'kazinon IV was not among them.

Chakotay looked into his Security Chief's perceptive dark eyes and noticed the Vulcan's subtle nod towards a section of the crowd that was entirely made up of high-level Zokaa'rian luminaries and ministers. His eyes flew to a cordoned off section of the seating and there he saw the Great Overseer seated with his closest Ministers from the cabinet. For a second their eyes met and he saw disquiet in Resh'lon's gaze, mingled with barely suppressed anger, confusion, and disbelief.

And Chakotay suddenly knew the High Council had ostracized the Overseer. He was only here as an observer. He wouldn't be able to do anything to help Chakotay or Voyager.

"Tell me, Commander." His attention was suddenly drawn as the Sovereignty's Imperial Minister, Pro Councilor Saph'roque, addressed him from across the courtroom, his intonation lofty and cold. "Why do you think we should not simply throw your female captain into a Zokaa'rian prison, or have her executed under Zokaa'rian law for the destruction and chaos she caused?"

In the ensuing silence within the Imperial Court, Chakotay found himself staring into the cool blue eyes of the middle-aged Zokaa'rian. Tuvok and himself had barely had the chance to do any real research on their prosecutor's background. All he knew was that this man served as the direct descendent to the System King—the Revered Tha'lankeer the Fifth, who was ruling this gathering—and by virtue of the Pro Councilor's relationship with him, he probably had a good one with Kel'kar'vheel as well.

Chakotay could tell that the Zokaa'rians' approach was be on the offensive from the get go. Here he was standing in the Accused's podium and they wanted to intimidate him from the first sentence. Well, he was going to fight with all his might.

Chakotay straightened his stance and looked calmly at the prosecutor. "Because doing so would contradict the same code of law," he said, keeping his voice confident. "Your ancient edict clearly states you cannot pass judgement on someone you deem a criminal if that person has committed crimes that were more devastating for another before committing the ones against you."

The look on the Zokaa'rians lined face was of affronted surprise. He had obviously not expected Chakotay to know that little fact. "We see you have been studying our doctrines."

"It's been a highly illuminating read, Pro Councilor." Chakotay nodded, secretly relieved he'd read up on Zokaa'rian law after Janeway's destructive run. "And I don't say this to make light of your loss. My whole crew and I are extremely regretful for the chaos Kathryn Janeway's actions have triggered in your peaceful realm and for that we're ready to compensate your kind Sovereignty in any way possible.

He looked at the Pro Councilor. "But I would also ask your fair council to spare her life in this instance. One day Voyager will return to the Alpha Quadrant and when we do, I want Kathryn Janeway to face the charges in the Federation court of law, charges that have been put against her in the light of her actions against her ship and her crew."

Saph'roque stared at Chakotay, a strange expression touching his eyes. "So you will return to your home which is over thirty thousand light years away. Grandiose plans, I must say."

Chakotay felt himself frown at the Pro Councilor's tone of voice. And what did that strange look on Kel'kar'vheel's face mean? He took a deep breath to keep his nerves calm. These were imperial tactics to overawe the underdog, he told himself, nothing more.

"You make some clever points," Saph'roque was still speaking, his tone deliberately scathing. "Indeed, your selection as the _First One_ wasn't made completely irrationally. However, this council cannot see how you and your crew could ever compensate the Sovereignty. In the face of your vessel's weak condition and your crew's inefficient disposition in the wake of this deplorable incident, I can't imagine how you can make such a claim."

Chakotay felt his face burn as a wave of anger enveloped him. What the hell were they gloating about? But before he could speak up, Tuvok, playing the part of his counsel, spoke up.

"If I may bring the council's attention to the fact," Tuvok began, his voice cool, "that it was your impeding bureaucratic channels that caused the delay in Voyager's crew's return to their repairs, you might realize that had they been allowed to work at their own pace without any interruptions, you would not be sitting here accusing them of inefficiency."

The hit was direct because Chakotay saw the Pro Councilor's face contort with anger.

"This council does not have merely _this_ incident to judge your crew's competence, or lack thereof, by," Saph'roque said. "One of your undisciplined crewmembers… ah yes, the Chief Engineer I am told, attacked Kel'nohr's shield grid only four days ago."

"With empty torpedo tubes," Tuvok continued. "An understandable reaction to the situation that had resulted in the abduction of two of my crewmates, one of which stands here accused. While we will forever be grateful to Great Overseer Resh'lon and Minister Jess'phan's unprecedented help in the recovery of our officers, these abductions would never have taken place in the first place if your Sovereignty's security measures had been sound."

"Ah yes, the abduction." Saph'roque sneered, sharing a strange covert glance with Kel'kar'vheel, who shot a baleful glare in their direction. "A most unfortunate incident. One that is unlikely to ever be repeated." The Pro Councilor turned to Chakotay again. "Now, Commander Chakotay, are you saying you really were unaware of the real reasons why your female captain committed these crimes against the Zokaa'r Sovereignty? You did say you wanted your ship and her captain to return to your far away home soon."

Chakotay stared at the prosecutor. "I don't understand what you're trying to imply, Pro Councilor. Voyager will return to the Alpha Quadrant one day. That has nothing to do with this investigation or with what Kathryn Janeway did."

"Oh, but it does," the Zokaa'rian stressed. "You sound too naïve, Commander. Surely you know your female captain was trying to gain access to the subspace travel technology that is the sole property of the Zokaa'rian Academy of Sciences." His voice hardened. "And that was why she attacked this good council's Zonal Command Center."

Bewilderment filled Chakotay's thoughts. Where had _this_ come from? "I am aware of your Sovereignty's great technological advances, Pro Councilor, but… I am not sure I understand—"

The Pro Councilor cut him off, "And is it not true that you were well aware of your female captain's plans to attack the diplomatic settlement? And that you in fact accommodated her and reached to stop her only at the very last minute?"

"I must object, High Council." It was Resh'lon, who had apparently decided he'd had enough of this posturing. "The Pro Councilor is accusing our guest, who was a victim of Zokaa'rian inefficiency. He's the chosen one and it is a dishonor to implicate him in this…"

The Pro Councilor spoke in the middle of Resh'lon's interruption, impatience obvious on his face. "I must be allowed to proceed."

The System King spoke up for the first time, stopping Resh'lon. "Great Overseer, you will sit down."

"But he is…"

Tha'lankeer bellowed, "NOW!"

Looking chagrined, Resh'lon sat down, his forehead lined in distress.

Chakotay stared at every member of the High Council one by one, his confusion profound. "I don't understand…"

"You don't understand," Saph'roque scoffed. "That seems to be your answer to everything. But how can you lie in the face of such clear evidence?"

Chakotay looked into his eyes. "What evidence?"

"Evidence that clearly shows you were working in collaboration with your female captain all along." The Pro Councilor ground out every word. "That your so-called abduction was also a fluke."

"High Council, this is outrageous!" Resh'lon jumped to his feet once more, his voice agitated, but he was ignored this time.

"And that this in fact is the reason you don't want her dead because after all," Saph'roque continued, "you two were working in accordance with your mutually accepted plan."

"This is _preposterous_," Chakotay said, trying to keep his voice calm and failing, as he felt renewed anger at the unbelievable accusations. "My abduction was a fluke? Your own officials were there when my Chief of Security came to get us out, weren't they?"

"An unfortunate example of innocent people having their objectivity clouded," Saph'roque said.

Tuvok spoke up at this. "Are you accusing your own officials of being involved in conspiracy?"

"We don't have to," Saph'roque replied. "Not when we have this recording showing your Commander Chakotay conspiring with your female captain at a time when he was supposedly being tortured by aliens."

The Pro Councilor's eyes bored into Chakotay's as he nodded to one of his aides. The Imperial's Court's lights were suddenly dimmed and a holographic recording was initiated on one side of the room.

Chakotay stared in disbelief at the presentation. It was of himself, speaking to someone on a visual display monitor.

Chakotay: "We have been here for over twenty-six hours."

The other person was not visible but there was no doubt about who it was. The voice was Kathryn Janeway's: "How are they treating you?"

Chakotay: "Pretty good. Tom and I aren't allowed to get out of these underground rooms but our stay here is luxurious."

Janeway: "Good, I want you to stay put."

Chakotay: "Captain, I've been having some interesting discussions with a few of their scientists. Some of these Kel'zians aren't happy with the Zokaa'rian designs. They say their high level technologies, like that subspace travel thing you mentioned earlier, are being put to the wrong use."

Janeway: "I'm getting the same impression."

Chakotay: "I've been asking them to give me an update on why we've been brought here but they're not very forthcoming. Do you have any idea what's going on?"

Janeway: "Can't answer that now, Chakotay. I have arrangement to make. The official channels aren't exactly helpful. I may have to strike some underhanded deals."

Chakotay: "But Captain—"

Janeway: "Enough! You and Tom stay quiet and out of the way. I have everything under control."

And that was the end.

The recording finished and the illumination was raised. As he looked around the suddenly hot room, his own hands strangely cold, all Chakotay could see were accusation and contempt on the faces of every High Council member.

Feeling suddenly lightheaded, his eyes went to Resh'lon and he saw that the anger still lingered in the Great Overseer's eyes but there now lurked a new expression—one that told Chakotay that the Great Overseer did not believe a word the Pro Councilor was spouting. The look was of trust and confidence and regret, and Chakotay felt a strange wave of relief at that.

"Commander?" He heard Tuvok's soft, inquiring voice in his ear, turned to the Vulcan, and saw the same trust in the dark eyes.

"I never," he said to his Chief of Security, "NEVER had this conversation with the captain at any point of time, Tuvok."

Tuvok looked into his eyes for a second and nodded. And then he turned to the Pro Councilor. "Where did you obtain this recording?"

"It was retrieved from the databanks in your female captain's very quarters," Saph'roque replied, his voice contemptuous. "But I have no doubt your crewmate would call this too a fake." He turned to Chakotay. "Too late, Commander Chakotay. There can be no clearer evidence than this recording."

"This is not evidence. It's a fabrication," Chakotay spat. "You will have to prove the authenticity of this recording."

"Don't worry. Your counsel will get one chance to defend you." Saph'roque smiled. "And when he fails, which this council is absolutely sure that he will, we will execute both YOU and your CAPTAIN under Zokaa'rian edict.

The Pro Council's eyes were hard as he stared at Chakotay. "You see, your point about your female captain committing the crimes against your crew before committing them against the Sovereignty no longer applies because _you_ committed _this_ crime of high treason against the Sovereignty _before_ your captain was unleashed on your ship. This crime is punishable by death in our statute. You signed your own death warrant."

* * *

"The file was unbreakable, Tuvok. The coding had been so intricately programmed, no one in the quadrant could've decrypted it."

Tuvok stared at the raving woman confined in the brig and felt an illogical rush of dismay fill him. Time was short and he had only been allowed back on Voyager to gather whatever evidence he could to save Chakotay and consequently Kathryn Janeway. There was no doubt in his mind that Chakotay was innocent. Tuvok knew there was no logical reason for anyone to infer that the commander and Tom Paris had been kept in any luxurious locations. He knew both his crewmates had suffered.

However, save the Doctor's medical reports on his crewmates, he didn't have any solid evidence to prove their innocence. And now it appeared Kathryn Janeway was admitting to having made that encrypted recording of her conversation with Commander Chakotay.

"I learned from the finest and I played my hand against the finest." Voyager's former captain stalked the small confines of the room as she spoke, her voice high-pitched, feral. "They deserved it, Tuvok. You can't tell me I should've spared them. They didn't treat me the way I deserved to be treated."

Tuvok frowned. Who was she talking about? Did she mean the Voyager crew or the Zokaa'rian citizens in the settlements she had attacked? Or perhaps it was the Zokaa'rian authorities she had set out to battle? The Voyager crew was _her_ crew. They were _her_ people. How could she say they deserved what she did to them? And the Zokaa'rian citizens were equally off limits, as were the Zokaa'rian authorities. There was no way she could justify what she had done.

"I had given them my loyalty, my WORD, as a Starfleet officer." Kathryn Janeway fumed and turned to him as she snarled, "And what did they do? They betrayed me. STABBED me in the back. They were willing to cast me aside and move on with their DESPICABLE plans."

What plans? Tuvok stared at her clouded face. Plans to use the subspace technology? Had she been conferring with someone in the Kel'zian or Zokaa'rian governments about this technology? Was she talking about Chieftain Kel'kar'vheel? It was possible. After all, she had attacked his ship as well.

"Well, I showed them, didn't I?" She ground her teeth. "No one can break that code. NO ONE. They can play with their decoding sequences and transceivers and gadgets for the rest of their LIVES, and they will get nowhere. The puzzle will NEVER be solved."

But there was no puzzle. The recording had been decrypted easily. He had handed the chip to Seven of Nine to find out if she could uncover any discrepancies in the programming, for surely there had to be some. He knew Chakotay was innocent. But the recording itself, which apparently Kathryn Janeway had encrypted, was no mystery. Everyone knew she had made it.

But how did Commander Chakotay get implicated? Tuvok just didn't understand it. What kind of game were the Zokaa'rian investigation officials playing?

"I learned from the best, Tuvok." Janeway stared at him from across the forcefield. "YOU KNOW I AM THE BEST. They deserved it," she yelled, spittle spraying from her mouth as she attempted to emphasize her point. "THEY ALL DESERVED EVERY PAINFUL SECOND OF IT. I am telling you the TRUTH. They ALL deserved to DIE."

As the damning words sank into his consciousness, Tuvok realized that the woman called Kathryn Janeway, who stood before him now—who had been his longtime superior, his confidant, and his friend for so many years—was someone he did not, could not, recognize at all.

* * *

"These files have all been erased," Tom heard Harry mutter next to him. "Very, very meticulously."

They were in Janeway's quarters, on their knees in the living room's carpet, as they scoured through her log entries and personal files, one by one. It was clear she had run encryption routines to hide her antics but it was still a mess.

"Not meticulous enough," Tom sniffed. "They may have been erased but they've left traces all over. It was not a clean job."

"It's clean enough that none of the algorithms I'm running can retrieve them now." Harry's fingers moved quickly on the terminal, his brow creased. "Maybe the files were supposed to leave traces, maybe they were not supposed to completely disappear, just be made inaccessible."

"Yeah and maybe it's your algorithms that are screwed up, Harry," said Tom, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he took in a shaky breath, and then with a curse, he banged the console in anger. The terminal beeped in warning.

"Tom, this is NOT helping," Harry snapped.

"She wiped out the whole damn datastream." Tom felt the first tendrils of true fear fill him. Chakotay's life was in danger and they had nothing in the way of evidence to save him. "She got into the system and wiped it all out," he sighed.

"Not all of it," Harry said. "She didn't get into anyone's personal accounts. Seven sent all our letters to our own systems, remember? Captain Janeway could only erase the master copy from the Astrometrics databanks."

Captain Janeway was trying to wipe out all traces of the datastream from the ship's databanks. Tom frowned. But why?

"There must've been something in there she was trying to hide." He looked at his friend. "What was it?"

He saw anxiety in the younger man's eyes as he answered, "We have to figure out another way to retrieve them."

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

They both jumped at the sudden admonishment and turned around to face their intruder.

"Seven!" Tom stared at the ex-Borg.

He heard Harry ask, "What's going on?"

She looked them in the eye one by one, and then her gaze fell to the open data terminal. "You have been tampering with Captain Janeway's log entries," she stated. Then her voice turned hard, "Who authorized your access to this system?"

"We're not _tampering_, Seven." Tom sighed. "We're trying to find evidence that can save Chakotay."

"As am I." Seven glared at him and then took a step forward. "Move away from this console."

"Seven…"

She straightened her posture and stared down at him with full Borg haughtiness. "If you must know, I've been authorized by Commander Tuvok to pursue this investigation."

That jolted him out of pigheaded mode. She was here to help. That was a good thing. They shifted out of the way and he watched as she too assumed the crouched position on the carpet beside them.

At once, her fingers were moving on the console, her eyes glued to the terminal.

"What have you found?" he asked, his heart suddenly beating fast at the determined look on her face.

Her face was tight. "I must match these log entries to the exact time sequence."

Tom frowned. "Time sequence of what?"

Seven frowned as she dug deeper into the logs. "You've been running decrypting algorithms through Captain Janeway's databanks. They are inefficient and flawed AND they are interfering with my access to her system."

"Sorry." Harry sounded miffed. "We didn't know anybody was looking in there."

Seven ignored him and continued foraging. "The decryption code of these deleted files corresponds closest to the time sequence of my data." Tom watched her eyes suddenly sparkle. "This file was…"

"Time sequence of what?" he asked again. "What are you looking for?"

But Seven was not replying. Her stare was riveted to the data on the terminal, the sparkle in her blue eyes suddenly blinding as her mouth dropped open.

Tom stared at her. "Seven?"

As if she was in a daze, he heard her whisper, "I believe I have found what I was looking for."

"What is it?"

But she was downloading whatever she had searched for into her datapadd, and then with lightning speed she was on her feet and turning around to walk out of the room.

"Wait," Tom stepped up to grab her arm. "You have to tell me what's going on."

She faced him with a glare, her brow creased. "There is no time. I must get this data to Commander Tuvok at once."

"I just need one word," Tom begged, his heart galloping as he tried to keep his voice calm. "Is it gonna help Chakotay?"

Tom didn't know what exactly Seven saw on his face but her expression suddenly softened. "Commander Chakotay did not take part in the conversation that took place with Captain Janeway while he was in the prison."

"We KNOW the recording is corrupted," he stressed, "but they blame all possible flaws on disruptions caused during the attack on Voyager. They're immaterial to the Zokaa'rians."

"Not anymore." Seven's eyes were clear as she stared into Tom's. "I now know whose encryption signature was used to send that videofeed through the shield grid in the first place."

* * *

Tuvok strode towards the Imperial Minister's office, the datapadd with the evidence clenched in his hand.

The number of Zokaa'rians that had come to watch the court proceedings seemed larger to him this time, and somehow more animated, as he made his way through the throng.

Seven had caught up with him in the transporter room, just as he was about to be escorted back to the High Council Imperial Court of Law in the special Zokaa'rian craft that had been assigned for his transportation. The evidence had indeed opened his eyes and brightened the prospects for Commander Chakotay's complete exoneration. Now all he had to do was lay the findings in front of the High Council members.

But there was something wrong. The crowd wasn't merely animated as he'd previously thought, it was agitated—the looks on the faces of people around him wrought with grief. Something had happened.

Tuvok's steps slowed as he reached the Imperial Minister's office and then taking a deep breath, he walked inside.

Saph'roque was surrounded by several ministers, their voices hushed as they discussed something urgently.

"Pro Councilor," he announced.

Saph'roque looked up at Tuvok and then frowned. "Not now, Commander." He shook his head. "We have enough trouble of our own. You will have to wait."

"What has transpired?" Tuvok took a step closer, recognizing the look on the Pro Councilor's face as the same grief he'd seen on the people's outside. The ministers present in the room seemed equally agitated.

The Pro Councilor looked into his eyes, his face drawn. "There has been an… attack." He swallowed. "On the fifth asteroid cluster on the Zokaa'r Homeworld. The reports are still coming in. We don't know yet how many have been lost."

This was dismal indeed. Tuvok stared at the prosecutor. "What type of attack?"

The Zokaa'rian pursed his lips. "A Zulon bomb—three different instances—a devastating biogenic weapon. As you can see, I have too much on my hands."

_Biogenic_. Tuvok frowned. No doubt, the casualty rate would be high.

However, he had his own mission. And he wanted to get it done as soon as possible.

He pointed at the datapadd in his hand. "I have evidence that proves Commander Chakotay's innocence."

The look on the Pro Councilor's face changed to derision. "Don't tell me. The file is a _fake_ because the data is corrupted." His face turned hard. "That ploy is too old, Commander. We know the data on the file was damaged when your captain attacked your vessel. I'm afraid I don't have time to humor you now."

Tuvok looked straight into the Zokaa'rian's blue eyes. "Would you consider the possibility of the data's corruption if I told you it was Chieftain Kel'kar'vheel's encryption signature that was recorded on our sensors when that file was transmitted through the energy barrier?"

"What?" Saph'roque cried, a look of utter disbelief spreading on his face—in fact, on the face of every minister present in the room. "You're not serious."

"I can assure you, Pro Councilor," Tuvok said, "I am always serious."

The Pro Councilor shook his head. "We don't have the technology to transmit data through the energy barrier."

Tuvok handed him the datapadd. "We have succeeded in matching the signature on the transmitted file with the Chieftain's signatures on previous datalinks with Voyager."

Reluctantly, the Zokaa'rian was forced to study the data on the padd. "But how can this…" His eyes widened at what he saw on the padd. "These were energy spikes."

Tuvok nodded, relieved that he was finally being heard. "Just one, recorded on Voyager's Borg sensors when the transmission was made exactly at 1121 ship hours on the fourth day of the away mission. When that energy spike was digitally analyzed today, it translated into this data encryption code."

A frown had formed on the Zokaa'rian's face as a few of his ministers peeked at the datapadd and murmured among themselves. "This data encryption code…"

"…matches Chieftain Kel'kar'vheel's signature," Tuvok completed the sentence.

There was silence in the room as the Imperial Minister studied the data and discussed the findings with the others present in the room. Tuvok watched the proceedings quietly for a while, letting them absorb this revelation, and then he stepped forward.

"Tell me this, Pro Councilor," Tuvok said. "How can Commander Chakotay be a part of this conspiracy if Kel'nohr's Chieftain was the one who facilitated the transmission of that data file to Voyager in the first place? How can he sit in the Royal box and watch the commander be implicated in high treason when he was the one who made possible the delivery of that videofeed?"

Saph'roque looked up at him, the expression on his face an amalgamation of rage and vexation. Then he turned to one of his aides. "Locate Chieftain Kel'kar'vheel at once. Go. Apprehend him if he resists," he barked. "GO NOW!"

Then he turned to Tuvok and said, "This is… astonishing evidence, Commander." His voice was contrite. "You should know that we will have to verify your Borg sensors for exact accuracy."

"You can check them right now," Tuvok said. "That data isn't going anywhere."

"Pro Councilor."

It was the aide Saph'roque had sent on the errand. He'd come back alone.

"What is it?" he asked.

"The Chieftain," the aide replied. "He's not here."

"Not here?" Saph'roque frowned. "You must be mistaken. All the Imperials are still in the settlement. Go check with his aide."

"I've checked, Pro Councilor." The aide explained, "I've even run scanning sequences. The computer confirms he's nowhere on the station."

Saph'roque stared at Tuvok and then at the aide. "Where is his ship?"

"Still docked, Pro Councilor," the aide replied. "He didn't sign out with the Exiting Authorities. He just disappeared."

**Continued in Chap 9  
**


	10. Chapter 9

**Absolute Power, Chapter 9**

**FULL CIRCLE**

Wearing the captain's rankbar filled Chakotay with twisted, conflicted emotions.

In the Maquis, during battle, they'd never worn any pips or bars to differentiate between various ranks. The leather uniforms they wore and the individual command presence they held was all that told their tales of experience. It had, of course, been a tactical decision. In case someone was lost in combat, no trace of his or her rank was to be left behind. After all, the Maquis were a covert fighting force, struggling against the injustice they'd suffered at the hands of a larger bureaucracy.

Rankbars and pips were the legacy of the Starfleet.

However, after almost six years in the Delta Quadrant, the time had now come for Chakotay to take charge, and don the captain's uniform.

The announcement had been made quietly and without fanfare, after the conclusion of the memorial service they'd held for their lost comrades. Greg Ayala, Joe Carey, Kenneth Dalby, Geron Tem. Kendrick, Tabor, Lang, Larson, among others. All good men and women—Maquis and Starfleet alike—who'd served Voyager with all their hearts and gotten killed for no good reason.

There was as little reaction to the announcement of his taking command of the ship as there was to the decision of making Tuvok the First Officer and to promoting a handful of command crewmembers to higher ranks. Tom Paris was once again a Lieutenant. As was Harry Kim, who—Chakotay thought—had genuinely earned this rank after all these years.

These were vital, unavoidable command decisions.

The crew of Voyager had suffered a betrayal unlike any Starfleet crew—or _any_ crew for that matter—could endure in a sane universe. They'd been robbed by the one whom they'd put their faith in so many years ago. There was anger, disbelief, agony in their suffering eyes, and it made Chakotay's heart ache in ways he couldn't describe. When he looked back in his life, he couldn't compare this madness to anything he'd ever experienced—not even to the desperate Maquis days, when day in and day out he'd led his cell into battle against the vicious Cardassians in the midst of what had then seemed like unconquerable odds.

In so many ways, this betrayal, this wound was worse than anything an outside enemy could inflict.

Chakotay's walk through the ship after the announcement was made was greeted by subdued acknowledgement of his new role as the captain. He could sense a little uneasiness, a little hesitancy amongst those who had been most loyal to Janeway. But they were far and few between. The rest of them just seemed overwhelmed by the fact that he was actually willing to talk to them, to visit them in person, to apologize to them, and to take their hands in his own and pledge his allegiance to their pain and to the promise of their safety.

For some reason, he couldn't keep himself still. Everything this crew had been through was constantly on his mind, eating away at his conscience. He kept thinking that perhaps if he'd been more alert, if he'd paid more attention to what Janeway had said to him, if he hadn't been so out of his mind with anger and shock at her accusations that he hadn't been able to even think straight, perhaps then all this could have been prevented.

Janeway. He had visited her in the brig but the Doctor had her sedated. He had told Chakotay that she had gone through a few violent episodes and it was for her own safety that he had sedated her. Chakotay realized he was no closer to finding out why she had acted the way she had. Perhaps the answer lay in the datalogs Tom and Harry had found traces of in their hunt, and which Seven had eventually decrypted.

In the afternoon, when he'd briefly returned to his old office to gather a few things, he'd found the replicator beeping and the computer announcing that his lunch was ready to be served. A bowl of piping hot tomato soup and a generous helping of vegetable crème spaghetti, Chakotay didn't have to check the computer logs to know it had come courtesy of Tom Paris.

Tom. Spirits, he wanted to talk to Tom so badly but he knew the younger man had been busy in the Navigation Array on Deck 12 for the past sixteen hours and he simply hadn't had the chance to talk to him. Chakotay knew there were a lot of repairs still needed there.

B'Elanna had finally come to talk to him the previous night. He couldn't believe she had actually apologized for acting weird with him. He didn't know where she'd gotten that idea. She had done nothing wrong. He didn't know why she thought he would be upset with her. He knew it was irrational of him to expect her to feel easy talking about Tom to him but he was grateful she'd come over to clear up all the fuzzy details, and get everything out in the open.

Now he just had to fix everything with Tom.

Soon. Chakotay sighed. He'd do it soon.

He rode the turbolift down to Deck 6 and walked into Transporter Room 1. Tuvok commed to let him know his guest was waiting to be beamed onboard and he acknowledged as he nodded to the officer manning the controls.

Within seconds, Resh'lon of Du'kazinon IV shimmered onto the transporter platform.

"Great Overseer." Chakotay stepped forward. "Thank you for allowing me to see you."

"Commander, it is my pleasure." Resh'lon stepped down from the platform and the two men shook hands. "Or should I call you Captain?"

"I have taken command of Voyager," Chakotay nodded, "but I'd prefer Chakotay for now."

The Zokaa'rian tilted his head. "Then I insist on Resh'lon."

Chakotay led his visitor out into the corridor and they quietly made their way to the turbolift. He answered the Zokaa'rian's discreet queries about Voyager's status as the turbolift took them to Deck 1. Their brief sojourn onto the Bridge allowed him to introduce Resh'lon to the skeleton crew that was manning the Bridge under Tuvok's command, and then the two of them walked into the Ready Room.

He led the Great Overseer to the sofa in front of the large viewport and as they both sat down, Chakotay turned to the Zokaa'rian.

"Resh'lon," he began, his voice earnest, "I don't know where to begin, how to apologize for all the chaos that has ensued within your territory on our behalf."

There was surprise on the Zokaa'rian's face. "Chakotay, there is no reason for you to apologize. It is I who am mortified for slacking in our task to take the proper security protocols and for letting you fall into enemy hands. None of this would've happened if we had prevented that."

Chakotay took a deep breath and shook his head. "I find it impossible to believe that. The woman I called my captain and loyally served under for the last six years did NOT maliciously cause the deaths of fifteen members of our crew because we were abducted by your enemies."

The Zokaa'rian's green eyes were thoughtful. "I see that you grieve."

"They were all people I cared for," Chakotay replied. "Every single one of them I knew personally, and not one of them could be replaced or their loss compensated by anything anyone can do."

"And we are to share blame for that too." Resh'lon frowned. "What happened to you happened because instability existed in our political system."

"And what about your own loss?" Chakotay asked him. "Those thousands of innocents slain on your homeworld through Kel'kar'vheel's deception. He took advantage of the diversion her actions caused by making a much deadlier attack on you. How can I even think about or grieve my loss in front of you when I know you've suffered so much more."

Resh'lon shook his head as he sighed. "We both grieve, Chakotay. You do it because your loss is that much more personal and closer to your heart. I do it because I failed to save my homeworld from the enemy's disingenuousness. But I also know that even though we've suffered a greater loss in terms of numbers, we now have a clearer picture of who is behind the disruption we've faced in the last many years. We now know the culprits and we won't stop until we've pursued and punished every last one of them."

"I don't know what to say, Resh'lon." Chakotay settled back on the sofa. "I don't have the words that could possibly measure up to your well-spoken and thoughtful observations." He stared at the Zokaa'rian. "Do you know how Kel'kar'vheel was able to evade the authorities? When Tuvok went to Deb'rar sector with the evidence, Kel'kar'vheel had disappeared."

"It appears he had informants at all levels of the Sovereignty's hierarchy." There was bitterness in Resh'lon's voice. "He'd apparently known that he'd been found out the moment your Borg crewmember presented the decrypted signature code to the Observer on Voyager."

"And he disappeared."

"We'll find him." Resh'lon's face was tight. "We know the people he used, the people he worked with, the alliances he made outside our domain. Like those Xaolns and the contemptible third parties he corresponded with in the slave trade of exotic species. All that is being exposed as we speak."

But there was so much more going on. Chakotay stared into the Zokaa'rian's eyes.

"What will happen to Kel'nohr?"

"Changes at the highest governmental levels are already taking place," Resh'lon replied. "Believe me, Chakotay, the Kel'zians are a remarkable people. They're open-minded, hardworking, honest. They will thrive now that Kel'kar'vheel is gone."

"I hope it all works out for them and that they aren't targeted for what he did."

Resh'lon shook his head. "Nothing of the sort will happen. However, it's the fate of the High Council I am most worried about."

"How do you mean?" Chakotay asked.

Resh'lon sighed. "They're not the clean, untainted lot I used to cherish them to be, Chakotay. They've been used to Kel'kar'vheel's duplicity and bribery for so long now they're finding it impossible to adjust to his so obvious degeneracy."

"I am sorry," Chakotay said simply.

"As am I." The green eyes brightened suddenly. "But it's for the better I suppose. All those people who had been saving Kel'kar'vheel's despicable acts for so long are now being exposed for their own corruptions. I wouldn't be shocked if these corruptions go all the way up to the System King. To think if it hadn't been for the evidence your crew recovered, they would've allowed Kel'kar'vheel to implicate you and your crew in a crime you hadn't committed."

"It was a tough situation."

Resh'lon's gaze was enigmatic as he looked into his eyes. "You're too diplomatic, Chakotay. You still don't want to hurt my feelings so you're sparing me from what you really think of this despicable state of affairs."

Chakotay shrugged. "I feel it's not my place to pass judgement on your government, Resh'lon. We've met many good people here. How can we forget them?"

"And how can I cast aside the way Kel'kar'vheel played all of us?" Resh'lon sighed. "He was waiting for you to be executed, and for your crew to be destroyed or thrown into Zokaa'rian prisons to languish for the rest of their lives."

Chakotay nodded. "He had seen the situation from every angle, and he had the reach to implement his plans in the highest levels of the bureaucracy."

"And they almost let him."

Chakotay felt a frown form on his forehead. "But if Kathryn Janeway hadn't played into his hands and caused the destruction she did, none of that would've happened."

The Zokaa'rian observed Chakotay quietly for a moment and then he asked. "How's your crew reacting to this situation?"

Chakotay sighed. "They're in shock. They've been betrayed by the one they relied upon the most. But they're resilient. They will survive."

"I am sure with you at the helm, they'll thrive too." The Zokaa'rian shifted forward in his seat. "Chakotay, please tell me how else I can assist your crew in the ship's repairs?"

Chakotay looked at him. "You have been more than generous to provide the shipyard facilities as you have."

"About the Zokaa'rian personnel whom we had provided before, I've gotten clearance from the authorities and they want them to return to Voyager to assist your crew again."

"That won't be necessary." Chakotay shook his head, keeping his face and voice calm. "I've discussed the repair situation with all the department heads and we've come to the realization that your repair facilities are more than adequate help. We would like to keep the personnel in-house at the moment."

The truth was, he and Tuvok had discussed the situation at length and decided it would be best if they kept the locals off Voyager until all necessary repairs had been made. Too much had happened in this domain for them to take any more risks. Now all he wanted was for them to get out of this territory as soon as possible.

"I see." Resh'lon looked at him, and it seemed he could read his mind, for his knowing eyes were filled with regret. "I don't blame you for your hesitancy, Chakotay. You've been let down by the Sovereignty as well."

Chakotay sighed and leaned forward in his seat, hoping his voice was as earnest as he felt inside. "Resh'lon, you've been a great support for us in the toughest of times. I don't know how I can ever pay you back."

For a moment, the Zokaa'rian Great Overseer stared at him. And then a mysterious glint came in his eyes. "There is one way you can," he said. "By bringing your government and mine together in an alliance as soon as you reach home."

"Of course," Chakotay replied and then shrugged. "But that won't be for at least several years, give or take a few anomalies here and there."

That mysterious glint was still in the green eyes as Resh'lon slowly smiled. "Speaking of anomalies..."

There was a pause during which the strangest feeling came over Chakotay. The feeling that told him something important was about to happen.

"Resh'lon?" he asked.

"Chakotay," the Zokaa'rian looked into his eyes, "that subspace travel technology the Pro Councilor was talking about was not just a grandiose claim on his part."

Chakotay stared at him, his heart suddenly beating very fast. "What are you saying?"

Resh'lon smiled. "We have in fact a very advanced subspace technology that makes use of a unique spatial anomaly in the Wil'raken sector, only fifteen light years away from here."

"Go on," Chakotay urged, breathing very, very slowly.

Resh'lon of Du'kazinon IV reached out and clasped Chakotay's hand in a warm grip.

"I have appealed to the High Council in the light of all that you and your crew have suffered," the Zokaa'rian explained. "As soon as the repair work to your vessel is finished, they've granted Voyager the exclusive use of the technology in order to get you to the Alpha Quadrant."

* * *

"It was a prototype vessel, designed to be used in the Federation's war against the Cardassians."

Tuvok observed Chakotay lift his eyes from the datapadd in his hand and look at him. "But the accident occurred on its first ever test run."

"That is correct," he replied. "An unknown malfunction occurred in mid-flight and the shuttle crashed over the polar caps of Tau Ceti Prime."

A frown formed between the captain's brows. "I remember hearing about it when I was in the Academy. It was big news in those days. Admiral Janeway was a renowned scientist, his contributions in astrophysics were phenomenal."

Tuvok nodded. "That is correct as well. However, the cause of the crash was never ascertained and the bodies never recovered."

For a moment, Tuvok saw a small hint of compassion appear in Chakotay's eyes—that inherent sensitivity very much part of his personality. And then he dropped his eyes to the padd again, his facial features becoming smooth once more—as if he'd remembered whom they were actually talking about.

"Seven did a good job of recovering this file," Chakotay said. "But I still can't make heads or tails out of this message."

"The file is corrupted," Tuvok said. "The segments that are recovered are still incomplete and in all probability are irretrievable because of the damage done to the relays during the attack."

"But the segments that were recovered do mention the Tau Ceti Prime incident." Chakotay looked at him. "Could that be what caused her breakdown?"

Tuvok considered the facts at his disposal. "It is possible. Kathryn Janeway was only a cadet at the time and from what I know of her relationship with her family, the experience of surviving the shuttle crash which killed her father and fiancé was devastating to her."

Chakotay pressed his lips together and this time, Tuvok could not read his eyes. "She saw them die in front of her eyes."

"She was thrown clear from the craft before the crash occurred," Tuvok replied. "It is believed Admiral Janeway and Justin Tigue also survived the crash but could not escape the shuttle in time and were subsequently drowned in the lake."

"And in the last datastream…" Chakotay's eyes were once more on the padd as he leaned forward in his seat. "For some reason, Admiral Houston sent her a missive mentioning the Tau Ceti Prime crash, immediately after which she systematically disrupted all command systems on board Voyager, booby-trapped the entire ship so that no one could stop her without having half the systems blowing up in their faces, stole the Delta Flyer, and attacked fifteen Zokaa'rian vessels."

Tuvok looked at him. "Admiral Houston was the officer in charge of the investigation for the Tau Ceti Prime incident."

His eyes still on the padd, Chakotay shook his head. "I can't believe it was just a coincidence."

Tuvok raised a brow. "Logic would imply that it was not."

Chakotay looked up at him. "I won't argue with logic in this instance, Tuvok."

However, there was much more than logic at work here, Tuvok thought. If one were to connect the dots of this convoluted puzzle, then one could also construe the link between Kathryn Janeway's ill-fated collapse and the fact that she had taken extreme offense to Captain Chakotay's interaction with Lieutenant Paris in the Xaoln prison. Chakotay had not said a word to him about it, or to anyone else for that matter. But Seven of Nine _had_ come to make her report to Tuvok after Chakotay was finally vindicated of any wrongdoing. She had told Tuvok how Kathryn Janeway had physically assaulted Chakotay and threatened him with harm for his supposed betrayal.

And yet, Kathryn Janeway had also made the recording of the videofeed, which had gotten Chakotay in trouble in the first place, long before the issue of his involvement with Lieutenant Paris had become known to her. Therefore, it was equally logical to conclude that the instruments of her disintegration had already been there, they had simply been waiting to be instigated. The chaotic events of the last few days had merely provided the spark that had given life to the blaze that had eventually enveloped her.

"The technology seems sound," Chakotay had partially turned the screen of the computer terminal on his desk towards Tuvok and was studying the data visible on it so Tuvok too attempted to bring his focus to the subject at hand. "It seems somewhat similar to the slipstream technology we experimented with sometime back."

"As well as to the Borg transwarp technology," Tuvok added. "However, unlike the slipstream and the Borg transwarp conduits, the subspace compression anomaly this technology uses is naturally occurring, not artificial."

A frown appeared between Chakotay's brows. "It is indigenous to this particular sector."

"That is what the data infers," Tuvok said. "The new High Minister from the Academy of Sciences has been most accommodating with sharing of the details of this technology."

"The Great Overseer assured me of that," Chakotay said. "His position in the Council is much stronger now than it was ever before."

"I believe his improved standing bodes well for the future of the Sovereignty and especially for the Zokaa'rian worlds in this sector."

"Let's hope you're right, Tuvok." Chakotay looked at him before he lowered his eyes to the screen again. "It's the same technology they used to bring us inside the subspace fold, and to help us receive the datastream from Starfleet."

"Yes." Tuvok nodded. "However, they used the technology to merely open a rift in subspace to bring Voyager in and to retrieve the datastream. Getting Voyager to the Alpha Quadrant would require the opening of a much longer sustained conduit."

Chakotay's eyes were on the screen as his fingers moved on the console. "According to these calculations, Voyager will travel more than thirty thousand light years in just eighty-nine point seven hours."

"It is a fast and efficient way of traveling indeed."

"What effect would the conduit's gravimetric forces have on our structural integrity?"

"The Zokaa'rian scientists have provided us with enhanced shield modification matrices which should help Voyager endure the gravimetric pressure. Since we've limited the manpower to only Voyager crewmembers, the repair work has been somewhat slower. It will take another week to get all the repairs and modifications done and have the warp engines back online."

"This changes everything, doesn't it?" There was marvel in the captain's eyes as he looked at Tuvok. "We always thought we'd reach the Alpha Quadrant one day, but in space, thousands of light years away from home, nothing was certain. Yet, here, within the last few weeks, this crew has been through so much. We've lost people who were our friends, our comrades; we've gone through radical changes overnight, and now we're going home. How will the crew adapt to these changes?"

"This crew is already adapting, Captain." Tuvok looked at Chakotay. "With the exception of a rare few, each and every one of them stayed together at the time of adversity when you had been apprehended, and they're now united under your command. Surely, there are uncertainties in their minds because of the adversities they've faced in the last few days, however, there is no doubt in my mind—they are ready to go home."

Still, there was uncertainty in Chakotay's eyes, a strange hint of anxiety lingering after the predicaments of the last few days. Suddenly Tuvok had the most unreasonable urge to relay the details of his vision to the captain. The vision that he had seen approximately three weeks before in a meditation session and which had held an uncanny resemblance to events he had been a witness to through his mindmeld with the Xaoln prisoner.

He did not know what the status of Chakotay's relationship with Lieutenant Paris was now but he knew it would be unwise to ignore the significance of a vision that had so astoundingly come true under the most perplexing circumstances.

His quandary thus resolved, Tuvok laid the padd in his hand on top of Chakotay's desk, looked into Chakotay's eyes, and began to speak.

* * *

Tom Paris bid farewell to Ensign Callahan as he walked out of Science Lab 2. His shift had ended two hours ago but he had stayed to finish the realignment of the sensor emitters. With the repairs to the navigational array due to be completed day after tomorrow, he'd wanted to get this part of the job done tonight.

God, he was tired and he was famished. It seemed as if they'd been repairing Voyager forever. Which in a way was true. They _had_ been repairing the ship ever since they'd met the Detarians five weeks ago. Plus any initial repair work they had been able to finish with the help of the Zokaa'rians had been ruined by Janeway's madness.

And he'd thought his situation with Chakotay had been the height of all dilemmas.

Well, he'd found out the hard way that there were worse things than falling in love with a guy you'd pushed away all your fucking life with your snide remarks and wise-guy attitude. For one, you could almost lose that same guy in an alien conspiracy indictment that asked for execution of all criminals.

_That_ had given Tom the biggest scare of his life. After all they'd been through, after all Voyager and its crew had experienced, after all that he had shared with Chakotay, and after all that Janeway had done to the ship, he had come _this_ close to losing Chakotay in a forged alien scam.

If it hadn't been for the Borg sensors that had recorded the transmission of that videofeed, he didn't know what they would've done. He didn't even want to think about it.

Chakotay was alive. He'd been vindicated. Hell, he was the captain now. Things were as normal as they could be in these crazy times. As for Janeway, he didn't want to spend too much energy thinking about her. He'd seen people die in front of him because of what she'd done. He'd dragged scorched bodies out from under burning conduits. People like young Ensign Tabor, who had been trapped in Jeffries tube 13 when that section of the deck had been transformed into an inferno—his body had been scorched almost beyond recognition. He'd seen the consequences of her actions from up close. No, he didn't want to think about her right now.

As Tom got into the turbolift and called for his deck, he knew he had other important issues to settle.

Like getting the newly minted captain to sit down and talk to him about life.

With a sigh, Tom leaned back and closed his eyes, feeling the hum against the turbolift wall as it slowly descended.

He knew Chakotay was busy, that he had to look at every issue that arose. Hell, the man had so many problems on his shoulders right now, Tom had hardly even seen him lately. Chakotay had always acted as the de facto counselor onboard Voyager and Tom knew the crew had never needed counseling as badly as they did now. From all that Tom had seen and heard, every time the captain hit his office, he had a long line of people waiting to talk to him—people who wanted to vent their frustrations in front of him. Tom knew Tuvok was going through the same routine and he wished he could help them somehow. After all, he was the third highest ranked officer aboard now.

Tom shook his head. From demoted ensign to Second Officer. He was no counselor, though. Not for everyone, at least. But dammit, he did want to talk to Chakotay. Sometimes he just felt like striding into his quarters and grabbing the man by his shoulders and telling him to take _care_ of himself.

The truth was he didn't know whether to approach Chakotay under these circumstances or to let things settle down and then do it. But things weren't going to settle down anytime soon, he knew that. They were going home. This had to be resolved before that happened.

But did Chakotay want to resolve it? Tom couldn't be sure. No matter how much he tried to straighten his head out, doubts still plagued his thoughts.

The last interaction he'd had with Chakotay had been the night before Janeway's attack, when he'd found Chakotay in that harrowing frame of mind—caught between anger and despair. Chakotay had seemed on the verge of collapse then, and that had scared Tom out of his skin. But he had also thought there had been some thawing, some breaking of the ice between the two of them. He knew there were some issues that had stopped the older man from letting out his feelings in front of him but waking up alone the next morning, without even a note from the older man, had still dejected him tremendously.

He sometimes wondered if the issues disturbing Chakotay had anything to do with Janeway.

The lift stopped at Deck 8 and Tom stepped out. For the time being, he had shifted to this deck because of the damage done to his own quarters during the fire. Feeling exhaustion fill his bones, he slowly made it to his temporary lodgings, keyed in his code, and walked inside. He took off his jacket, stretching his shoulders as he approached the small viewport, and that was when he saw a light blinking on his computer terminal. He stepped closer to check.

It was a message. From Chakotay.

His throat convulsing, Tom quickly pressed the panel and the message opened.

"Tom, please have dinner with me tonight. 2000 hours. Dress casually. Looking forward to seeing you. Chakotay."

Tom sank into the small sofa seat and felt his exhaustion recede, as the beating of his heart got faster. Please let this mean something good, he sighed, as he sent a little prayer to whatever deities were looking out for him that night.

* * *

Light green was most definitely Tom's color.

Chakotay surveyed his guest from head to toe, striving hard not to be too blatantly obvious. Hair still wet from the shower, shirt crisp and soft and clean, jeans worn well and snug around the lean hips, moccasins comfortable looking and soft. Nice.

"Hey."

Chakotay came out of his visual wandering as he looked into the intense blue eyes and a smile broke on his face. "Tom, come on in." He stepped back to let the younger man in. "Make yourself comfortable."

Tom stepped inside, and Chakotay could see he was trying not to demonstrate his apprehension, but it still showed through those eyes. Chakotay watched him look around his quarters—which if truth be told, he had hurriedly knocked back in some semblance of neatness only an hour ago—before settling that gaze on Chakotay's frame. "How're you doing?"

"I am all right," Chakotay replied. "And you?"

Tom shrugged. "Getting by."

Chakotay noticed the signs of tiredness under his eyes. "You've been putting in a lot of hours with the repair teams, and I appreciate that, Tom, but you need a break now. You must be exhausted."

The truth was he had been meaning to catch up with Tom in any case. He tried not to think it was Tuvok's talk that had finally persuaded him. Chakotay did not consider himself superstitious even if he did believe in visions. He had listened to Tuvok's discourse with what had been utter astonishment but he still didn't think predestined fate had gotten him and Tom involved in the events in the Xaoln prison. He just knew that Tom was someone who had always been under his skin, had always affected him more than others, and that somehow, Tuvok, being a spiritual man, had received a vision, a warning of sorts, about an event about to occur between them in the near future.

A premonition.

And while that didn't necessarily make what he had shared with Tom fated, it did give Chakotay's confidence a boost that what had happened between them had not been a mistake. There was a guiding hand at work here. There was no place for guilt for either himself or Tom. He was about to do the right thing.

"Actually, I'm feeling much better tonight," he heard Tom say and looked up to see concern in his eyes. "You've been working like hell too."

"Occupational hazards, Tom." He smiled. They looked at each other for a moment and then Chakotay turned to the replicator. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure."

Chakotay got two glasses of cool lemonade and handed one to Tom, watching as the younger man took a tentative sip and then a longer appreciative draught.

"I hope you're hungry." He removed the lids from the dishes he'd placed on the small dining table.

"Famished," Tom said.

"Good." Chakotay gestured at the seats and as they settled down, he looked up at Tom. "I tasted your meals of choice over the past three days. Now you get to taste mine. Cream of mushroom soup. Mexican Tortillas. Herbed Pasta."

Tom breathed deeply of the aroma wafting up from the dishes as he picked up a fork. "Smells great."

"Here." Chakotay handed him a serving spoon and they both delved into the task of quenching their hunger.

He'd made the effort to come up with a menu that would soothe both their palates, and the effort seemed to have paid off when he heard Tom murmur, "I love this soup."

"Thanks. It's a modification of a recipe my mother used," Chakotay explained.

Tom looked up at him. "I didn't know you could cook." His eyes stared deep into Chakotay's for a moment, as he twirled his fork around the pasta. "Are those bread crumbs?"

Chakotay nodded. "Toasted. They compliment the pasta well."

"Nice." Tom took the forkful in his mouth and slowly chewed, lowering his gaze to the food. "Mmm. Crunchy."

Chakotay stared at him a second and then lowered his eyes to his own plate.

So they were discussing the food. Good. But he wondered if that was all that was being said. Was that why he had called Tom here? Yes, he wanted to take care of Tom after all the times Tom had taken care of him, and feeding him was part of that, but it wasn't the main reason he had invited Tom over. He had to talk to him. He had to clear the air, get everything out in the open. Tom had done his part the last time he'd talked to him and it was Chakotay's turn to speak now. He attempted to smooth the lines from his face before he looked up.

"Tom…" he began, and found Tom's eyes already on his face, their blue depths filled with anxiety.

"Chak…"

His heart thudding fast at the troubled expression on Tom's face, Chakotay swallowed heavily and then nodded. "You go first."

He saw Tom take a deep breath before he started, haltingly. "Chak, I… wanted to… apologize for the way I acted with you… on the planet."

He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"All that… shit I said to you." Tom had put the fork down and his eyes were sparkling with a familiar emotion—it was the same look he'd seen in Tom's eyes when he'd come to save his ass in the prison. "I am so sorry, Chak, I was wrong. I should never have acted like that to you…"

"Tom—" he tried to interject but Tom wasn't listening.

"It's just that…" Tom was breathing heavily as he looked into his eyes. "I have no excuse why I said all that to you. It's so hard to explain why I went off like that. I just… want you to know that I never meant to—"

"TOM," Chakotay interrupted him. "It's all over and done with." He dropped the fork on the plate. "You… you came back for me, didn't you? I don't blame you for anything. If anything, I am amazed that you came back for me at _all_ after all the shit _I_ said to you."

Tom looked at him, incredulous. "What?"

Chakotay stood up and walked to the viewport, trying to collect his thoughts, and then he turned around to face Tom, feeling all his mixed up emotions swamping him. "At least I know you acted the way you did because they had you drugged." His face twisted in regret. "_I_ had no such excuse."

A frown formed on Tom's face, as he rose from his seat. "Chakotay, I didn't say all that to you because I was drugged." He saw Tom's teeth grit. "I said all that to you because I had misunderstood you - because I had taken everything you had said the wrong way..."

Chakotay shook his head. "Tom—"

Tom lifted a hand to stop him as he continued, "And it had been going on for the past SEVEN YEARS. Ever since the Maquis." Sweltering blue eyes looked into his. "You were right, Chak. I'd been building up all that shit inside me, and even though there were times you drove me absolutely insane—and I had no idea why the hell you always got such _hysterical_ reactions out of me—" Tom swallowed heavily as a myriad of emotions marched across his features, "I never stopped to think about it. I never had the courage to come to you to clear it up."

Chakotay couldn't believe Tom was still blaming himself. "It was not your fault!" He stepped up to grab Tom's shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. "I'm sorry I ever said that to you but I didn't call you here to listen to you blame yourself for the past, Tom."

"But I have to talk to you about this." The blue eyes were desperate. "I can't ignore this anymore. I've wanted to talk to you about this for so long. I have to get this out."

"You got it out when you came for me in that prison." Chakotay tried to keep his voice calm when inside he felt like shaking some sense into the younger man. Didn't Tom realize the debt Chakotay owed him, what Tom had done for him? "You saved my life, my sanity. Everything was resolved right there."

"But I never got to say the words." Tom's voice was strangled.

Chakotay huffed in a breath. "You showed me with your actions, Tom."

"Chakotay..."

"Tell me…" Chakotay gripped Tom's hands as he stared deep into his eyes. "That night you came looking for me near the escape pods hatch on Deck 14, you said you wanted to be with me. You said you wanted to make it work." He felt his heart thudding hard in his chest. "Would you… are you willing to give me another chance?"

Tom's eyes were wide. "Chance?"

"I've not…" Chakotay struggled to put his thoughts straight. "Tom, you've done so much for me. You've taken care of me, not once, but many times. And I have given you back nothing." He let go of Tom's hands as the realization about how selfish he'd been overwhelmed him. "I've been so _absorbed_ in everything else around me that I've not even commed you to ask how you're doing." He felt his throat tighten. "To be honest, I'm not sure if I am even worthy of you. If you ever chose to…"

He didn't get to finish his thoughts as suddenly he found himself pushed against the viewport, a tall lean body pressed against his, as a hot, persistent mouth landed on his own, kissing him into silence. The feel of those soft, moist lips upon his mouth and the heat of Tom's strong body permeated his senses. He felt his own body react to the sensations, as Tom's hands ran down the sides of his body and that hot tongue swiped against his lips.

"Tom, no…" he moaned, lifting his mouth from the succulent lips, as he tried to hold the younger man back. His fingers sank into the soft curly hair as he held Tom's face in his hands and searched the beautiful blue eyes. "Answer me."

Tom's hands were around his head as he kissed him again. "You're _crazy_, Chak," he murmured against Chakotay's lips. "Did you know that?" And his mouth again latched onto Chakotay's, his hands dropping down to run along Chakotay's back.

Chakotay felt his reason running away along with the rapid beating of his heart. God, Tom felt so good, he sighed as he was pushed harder against the viewport, Tom's body sensuously rubbing against his own and for one moment he couldn't help but hold that beautiful man close and kiss him back lovingly. Their breaths mingled as their tongues tangled together and Chakotay reeled at the sweetness of that mouth, the heat of that body—all of it filling his senses.

But no, he had to get an answer; he just had to. Chakotay gripped Tom's wandering hands, as he again lifted his mouth from Tom's, and stared at the flushed face, feeling his own heart beating erratically. "I asked you a question, Tom." His voice was hoarse.

His eyes smoldering, Tom planted moist kisses along Chakotay's jaw and cheek and ear, and the look on his face almost made Chakotay give up his resistance right there. "I want you." Amidst heated kisses, Chakotay heard Tom moan. "I meant it."

"Are you sure?" He held Tom's face in his palms. "Things are not the same anymore. We're going home, Tom. You could have other options."

Tom gave him an incredulous look. "I don't _want_ other options." He kissed Chakotay again, his hands wrapping around him desperately. "I choose _you_."

And then it was Chakotay kissing Tom. He gripped Tom's arms and wrapped his own around the heated thrumming body, letting his tongue push into the sweetness of Tom's mouth. He groaned as he felt Tom's erection pressing against his own through the layers of their clothing and he pressed his face into Tom's neck, kissing the throbbing pulse, his fingers digging inside Tom's shirt to run along his bare back, Tom's scent intoxicating him.

"God, Chak," Tom sighed. "I need you."

"I've missed you so much," he sighed, holding the strong body against his, as he ran his palms down the long back, molding them around that firm ass.

"But I hurt you." He heard Tom groan. "I've been blind and a coward and…"

Chakotay stopped the litany with a gentle bite along the long throat and then lifted his head to stare deep into the blue eyes. "You hurt _yourself_, Tom, when you think so little of yourself." He planted a firm kiss on those lush lips, as he guided Tom backwards towards the couch. "And you hurt me when you think _I_ think so little of you." He meshed his lips with Tom's, interjecting a kiss between each word. "Don't. Ever. Talk. Like. That. Again."

He heard Tom take in a shuddering breath as Chakotay pushed him flat on the couch and then climbed on top of him, covering his body. He felt Tom's arms wrap around his shoulders. Tom kissed him hard, and then shifted his mouth so those teeth were biting his earlobe, as the younger man attempted to roll Chakotay around.

But, dammit, he was having none of it. He gripped Tom's arms, growling, as he halted his movements and lifted his head to stare into Tom's eyes. "Not like this, baby." He stared at the swollen lips, feeling his heart pound in his chest, watched the burning gaze lock with his. "Tell me, Tom, do you really want me?"

"God, yeah."

"Then let me love you tonight," said Chakotay.

"Oh, God…"

And that was all Tom could say because Chakotay covered Tom's lips with his own and was biting him and kissing him and sucking his lips, making him moan into Chakotay's mouth. How their clothes dissolved and where they disappeared to, Chakotay could not remember. All he knew was the taste of Tom's skin, as he rubbed his face against Tom's sweaty neck, the heat of Tom's body inundating him completely. Running his tongue along Tom's sternum, he linked their fingers together and held those wandering arms captive. Tom's desperate sighs and needy groans filled his ears, as he kissed the long throat, the chiseled chest, slowly making his way down the undulating body.

"Please, Chak…"

The heated length of Tom's cock bumped against his chin just as he felt those long fingers sink into his hair, as if guiding Chakotay towards the ultimate prize, and then he was kissing Tom right there, tasting his salt-sweetness, wrapping his fingers around the silky slippery thickness.

"Please…"

Yeah, I got you, Chakotay thought, as he let the hot cock slip into his throat, and swirled his tongue around the thickness. The musky male smell filled him completely, as he tongued the thick head and lapped at the precome coating the length. Tom writhed beneath him, his groans rising in volume with every swipe of Chakotay's tongue along the hard length, and he had to grip the lean hips to keep the younger man still.

Rubbing his lips along the throbbing vein, he finally allowed his teeth to carefully, gently, graze the length. But apparently, that was more stimulation than the younger man could take. Before Chakotay could pull back, he heard Tom's strangled groan as his body went taut, those fingers tangling almost painfully in his hair just as he felt the first bursts of semen on his lips. Holding the writhing body in his arms, he swallowed the length whole, letting Tom pump his release into his mouth, before the younger man sank back into the couch with a sigh.

Tom's taste consumed his senses, as Chakotay lifted himself up to stare down at the beautiful spent body. Oh yeah, he thought, feeling his breath catch in his throat, flushed pink with arousal was also very much Tom's color. Feasting his eyes on the ruddy long limbs sparsely sprinkled with blond hairs, Chakotay sought out the tube of lube he had kept under the table as a contingency plan. Tom's eyes opened and locked with his when Chakotay's fingers went exploring between Tom's legs and he saw his breath quicken.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are to me, Tom?" Chakotay leaned over him, one hand holding Tom's shoulder, as he prepared the younger man with the other, and bent down to claim those lips once more. He felt Tom's hands sliding around him to grip his ass, squeezing hard, and he kissed him harder, on the lips and chin and throat, tugging at the skin with his teeth, as they both slid off the couch and down to the carpet. Looking down into Tom's eyes, he rubbed himself luxuriantly against the hot body, feeling himself groan as their cocks slid together.

"Please, Chak…"

I know, baby, he thought. Pulling his fingers out, he held Tom's burning gaze as he coated his cock with the cool gel. He watched Tom open his legs, and then in one move, he sank into the prepared opening, feeling his eyelids flutter closed as Tom's hands once again held him close, clutching him tightly, guiding him, as he slowly, excruciatingly slid into the blissful heat.

Tom's breath hot in his ear, he felt his long fingers branding their marks on his back, felt Tom's internal embrace clasping him tightly, as he moved down to meet Tom's hot biting kisses, his hands tracing Tom's body, caressing every inch. His body thrumming with undeniable need, Chakotay was soon thrusting in to the hilt. As he felt sharp teeth bite into his shoulder and strong legs wrap around his waist, he gripped Tom's hips to realign the angle of his drives into the heated channel, ramming hard.

"Love you, Tom," he groaned, as he felt Tom's once more hard cock slide against his stomach, tracing wetness along his skin. He gripped it with his hand and pumped, watching Tom's eyes roll back at the sensations. His breath staggering, Chakotay felt the burn start at his core as Tom pulled his legs further back and he sank deeper into the clasp, the tight channel squeezing his shaft. As he pulled back and rammed in harder, a strangled gasp escaped Tom's throat, and suddenly he was thrashing in Chakotay's embrace, crying out, his body stretching tight, as his cock once again erupted, coating Chakotay's fingers with his come.

His senses on overload, and his heart bursting out of his chest, the internal clench proved too much for Chakotay who slammed into his lover once, then twice, before spending himself in hot burning spurts of release.

His breathing slowing, Chakotay fell into Tom's welcoming arms, and felt the long body wrap itself around his, as the beat of his heart slowed to match Tom's. And thus, murmuring softly in Tom's ear, holding him ever closer, he allowed himself to fall into sleep.

* * *

Tom woke up to find himself nicely ensconced in Chakotay's embrace. His head was on the older man's shoulder and his arms held the strong body secure. As he stretched, he felt twinges in parts of his body where he wasn't accustomed to getting them.

And that was when it occurred to him that they were in Chakotay's bed. He didn't remember getting there at all.

"Hey…"

Chakotay's soft whisper brought his eyes to the older man's face and there was a smile in those deep dark eyes, and Tom couldn't help but lean in to kiss those soft lips. He felt Chakotay's strong hand hold his head close, fingers dipping into his short hair as he was kissed back thoroughly.

"How did we get here?" he asked after a moment.

"Well, Tom…" Chakotay looked into his eyes, his own eyes amused, those dimples showing. "It took quite a bit of maneuvering but I managed somehow."

Tom felt his eyebrow rise. "You carried me here?"

"Maybe." Chakotay shrugged, a devilish look on his face as Tom felt the warm hands slowly caressing his back.

"Maybe?" Tom stared into his eyes, trying not to smile as he felt sweet contentment fill his senses. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you look so cute when you're confused." Chakotay grinned.

Tom started to reply when his stomach rumbled loudly and he stared into Chakotay's smiling eyes. "God, I am starving." He pouted.

"Hmm." Chakotay pulled him closer as he kissed Tom's neck. "And whose fault is that?"

"Yours, of course," Tom sighed as he tilted his head back to allow the older man better access. "You didn't let me eat last night."

"Ah, so it was all my doing, was it?" Chakotay murmured against his throat.

"Absolutely." Tom wound his arms around Chakotay's shoulders, letting his palms run down the smooth back. "You just grabbed me."

"Yeah, I think I remember doing that." Chakotay smiled, his own fingers running along Tom's sides. "I couldn't help it. You made a nice handful."

Tom pushed the older man flat on the cooling sheets as he leaned forward to stare into smoldering black eyes. "Handful of what?"

"Mmm." Chakotay's hands wrapped around his hips and then those palms cupped his backside, squeezing lightly, reviving that sweet twinge. "This." Chakotay stared deeply into his eyes. The hands then left Tom's ass and slid up to wrap around his shoulders where Tom received another squeeze. "And this." Chakotay smiled. The hands were again on the move as they shifted to Tom's chest where the fingers wrapped around first one nipple, and then the other, twisting tantalizingly, making Tom gasp. "Mmm," Chakotay murmured, his eyes burning. "And this."

Tom's hands held Chakotay's hips down, keeping him in place as he reached down to run his fingers along the reawakening cock, pulsing between the strong thighs. "And how about this?" he asked, his voice husky.

"Mmm," Chakotay groaned. "Don't remember that one."

Tom gripped Chakotay's arms and pulled them over the older man's face, as he covered the strong body with his own, the smile finally emerging on his lips.

"Then let me refresh your memory."

* * *

**_**The next evening**_**

The look on Admiral Chapman's face was one of complete astonishment.

But then Chakotay had expected such a reaction from the admiral. It wasn't every day that you gave Starfleet Command news of your captain being removed from command and confined to the brig.

"Fifteen people?" the admiral asked, his face stunned, as he digested the news of Voyager's dead crewmembers. "What did she do?"

"Rigged the entire ship, and locked all the command systems," Chakotay replied. "Almost every attempt to stop her resulted in some booby trap going off. We had to eject the warp core because of an overload and Engineering was where the most extensive damage was done. Ten of the crewmembers killed were there."

Chapman stared at him grimly, his eyes wide. "You're in command now."

Chakotay nodded. "There was no other choice. I am transmitting a file to you with all the detailed reports, Admiral. You should receive it when this transmission ends."

"Thank you… Captain," Chapman replied and somehow hearing his new rank from the mouth of a higher-ranked officer made it feel like a seal of approval. "What is Janeway's status now?" the admiral was asking.

"She's been confined to the brig and is sedated at the moment," Chakotay answered.

Chapman frowned. "Sedated?"

Chakotay tilted his head. "Unfortunately, the Doctor has no other choice in regard to keeping her under control. She becomes very violent and destructive every time she wakes up."

The admiral said, "You say she attacked civilian population?"

"She did," Chakotay replied. "Fortunately, there were no fatalities on the aliens' side."

"And this… trial that was held?" Chapman probed.

"It's a long story, Admiral." Chakotay sighed. "We have everything under control now. If all goes well, I will be able to give Starfleet a complete report in person very soon too."

"Yes." Chapman nodded, the wonder obvious on his face. "The subspace travel technology you told me about—very intriguing. I wish you good journey."

"Thank you, sir."

"I must commend you and your crew on getting everything under control, Captain," Chapman said. "I can see you've had great problems."

"I appreciate it, Admiral," Chakotay replied and then he looked into the older man's eyes. "However, I have a question."

"Yes?"

"In the last datastream that we received ten days ago," Chakotay started, "Admiral Houston had sent Kathryn Janeway a message."

"Yes, Captain?" For some reason, Chapman's voice was wary.

Chakotay stared into his eyes. "Admiral, after the damaged systems were repaired, we were able to retrieve parts of that message, and in them there was a mention of the… Tau Ceti Prime crash of 2352."

"That is right, Captain." A glint appeared in the admiral's eyes.

"Janeway… she was acting strangely before the datastream arrived," Chakotay said, "but she didn't go out of control until she got Admiral Houston's message. We assume whatever it was, it had something to do with that message because of the sensitivity of the subject matter."

"You're right, Captain." Admiral Chapman pursed his lips. "I believe that was exactly the reason why Kathryn Janeway lost control.

The grim look was back on the admiral's face as he went on. "You see, in that message, Admiral Houston, who was the officer in charge of the investigation for the Tau Ceti Prime crash, had told her that after more than twenty-four years the salvage parties had finally recovered the remains of the bodies and that, in the search, an activator switch had been discovered in the debris. He told her it was now believed that the crash had occurred because a signal had been hidden in that switch."

Chakotay's eyes widened, as a strange feeling of dread descended on him. "You mean, the crash wasn't an accident?"

Admiral Chapman stated, "No, Captain, it was sabotage."

Chakotay felt his throat tighten. "So, it was the shock of finding that out that caused her breakdown."

"No, Captain, you're mistaken." Chapman looked deep into his eyes. "I believe it was the shock that the activator switch had been found at all that caused her breakdown."

"Sir?" Chakotay frowned.

"You see, Captain, we've had some problems in the Alpha Quadrant in the past few weeks," Chapman replied. "We now know who that activator code belonged to."

Chakotay stared at Chapman. "Who?"

"The code that triggered the switch in the vessel and caused the malfunction that resulted in the crash killing Admiral Edward Janeway and Justin Tigue in 2352… belonged to none other than… Kathryn Janeway."

**Continued in Epilogue  
**


	11. Epilogue

**Absolute Power - Epilogue**

_****2376 Starfleet Headquarters San Francisco, Earth****_

He stood outside the Main Conference Lounge at Starfleet Headquarters and quietly observed his crewmates being briefed by Starfleet Command one by one.

From the amount of time it was taking the officers to question each crewmember, it was obvious that Voyager's perilous journey through the Zokaa'rian spatial anomaly hadn't been their most onerous trial. It had been thirty-seven hours since their return and the briefings were still going on. He knew they would continue for a few more days.

The status of the crew's morale was slowly improving. The pain of losing their friends was still fresh but coming home was nonetheless a heartening step for their inner emotional states.

He watched his captain—the man he had served under in the Maquis as well as on Voyager—talking to members of Starfleet's investigative branch and knew there could be only one subject of discussion at this time. He watched Admiral Chapman join the group, the expressions on everyone's faces solemn as they spoke quietly for a few moments, and then several members from Starfleet Medical approached them, leading them inside the Conference Room.

As the door closed behind the group, Tuvok of Vulcan, First Officer of the Federal Starship Voyager, folded his hands behind him—for the moment shifting the issue to the back of his mind—and continued observing his other crewmates.

He knew Voyager's crew's trials had not yet ended. He wanted to make sure he was nearby in case any of them needed his assistance with any matter during their questioning by Starfleet Command.

* * *

She strode along the corridor, her head held high, as her well-disciplined attendants—nice men in crisp white coats—followed her brisk pace hurriedly. They entered a large room and she took the cleared space at the center to face her fine audience.

Her hands on her hips, she tilted up her chin and stared at the faces of the distinguished men and women, serving at the peaks of their careers, who now sat around her in revered silence, waiting for her to begin.

"The topic I've chosen to speak on today is loyalty," she started, her voice clear and booming around the room. "Loyalty to your comrades, to your crewmates, to the men and women who give up their lives and their faith and offer you their ardent sacrifices simply because you have given them your loyalty. That loyalty is the truest test of nobility a Starfleet officer can pass; it confirms the dedication with which all of us take our first hesitant steps into this incredible odyssey of utterly delightful exploration as scientists.

"But the closest form of loyalty is found within your own heart…" She stared deep into their eyes, seeking to find understanding in their considerate faces. "It is found within the folds of your own deeply conflicted soul. It is the loyalty to your own principles. That is the place where your mind analyzes the choices before you and assesses the value of the fidelity you've received from all those you have put your faith in. That is where it is decided whether your loved ones, your loyal aficionados, your passionate comrades, have done their jobs, whether they have fulfilled all their obligations to your discerning heart, the same heart in front of which they had promised to lay all their allegiances.

"And as the diabolical and profoundly tragic reality of life articulates…" She saw skepticism in the eyes of her audience and raised her voice, feeling a frown form between her brows. "Where that loyalty is betrayed, retribution must be exacted. Without retribution, there can be no surety of the dedication that all of us as Starfleet officers expect from those who serve us and answer to our ideologies. In this tale of undeniable morality, no one can stand in the way of the completely uplifting, deeply rooted, and utterly overwhelming assurance of privilege that our sense of loyalty brings to us."

Still there was uncertainty in their expressions, and she suddenly felt a snarl begin in her throat at their obstinacy. "Do not be fooled by flawed dogmas of diplomacy. When loyalty is abolished, vengeance must be obtained without remorse and dejection, from anyone and EVERYONE who crossed you and lied to your heart."

Her eyes filled with tears. "It could be your father, your lover, your most trusted companion. You cannot think about familial bonds when the volatile ties within your own heart are infringed upon. When those you love more than life itself stand in the way of your principles, when they attempt to change the course of your life with their uncompromising intransigence, you must put an end to their infractions at any cost."

But her audience was leaving their seats, were standing up to encircle her, and there wasn't a speck of appreciation in their eyes.

"At any cost," she repeated, her teeth grinding, as a feeling of trepidation filled her bones.

With frowns on their defiant faces, her attendants closed around her.

"AT ANY COST," she yelled, feeling her hackles rise, as she took a step back to find a safe place, or anything sharp and pointed to fight them with.

But they were on her in no time.

Before she could react, the attendants had grabbed hold of her arms and a hypospray was pressed to her neck, and Kathryn Janeway, former captain of the Federation starship Voyager and scion of a long-running line of Starfleet aristocracy, collapsed in the arms of the orderlies at Starfleet Medical's Center for Mental Illnesses.

* * *

"Madame," the doctor spoke softly in her ear and feeling weakness suddenly seize her she allowed him to lead her to the seat where she let herself sink down into the cushions.

Her vision blurring, she raised one shaking hand to dab at the perspiration forming on her brow, as she looked through the glass partition where they treated her oldest child. Her beautiful, intense, brilliant one, brought back to Earth in a straitjacket. The one who had won all the accolades an officer could ever hope to win, the one who had always had all the answers, all the solutions.

The one who'd bitten them all like a viper hiding in the grass.

Why things had gone the way they had, she could not be certain. Perhaps it had been her protected upbringing that had blinded her, kept her from seeing the truth that had been so brazenly evident. But then a beloved child's exaltation of her father could rarely be deemed questionable, could it? Especially if that child had supposedly found the man she claimed to have fallen in love with and was engaged to be married to.

Sickness of the soul was not always as apparent as sickness of the mind.

She felt her throat suddenly tighten as pain filled her chest, her hands clenching into fists, and just when she thought she would scream at the intensity of her emotions, she was enveloped in a warm loving hug.

"Mother," the woman whispered to her softly, holding her close.

"Phoebe," Gretchen Janeway cried, as she held her youngest child in her arms and wept for her oldest one.

The one who had once held all the answers.

The one whose bite had poisoned their lives forever.

**THE END **


End file.
